Never Go Back
by hereswith
Summary: MalRiver. A series of River centric ficlets, charting the development of a relationship between River and Mal. Set some time after the movie. With thanks to Geek Mama for beta reading. [Complete]
1. Never Go Back

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River can't go back.  
**Author's note**: Feedback is appreciated.

**  
Never Go Back **  
**by Hereswith**

She steals her first kiss from a dark-haired boy, on one of the border planets. She wants to know  
what it's like, for herself, she needs it to be real, and not inside her head, so when he pulls her away  
from the dance she follows him, beneath the vaulting sky, behind the shed. Her feet are bare and she  
stretches on tiptoe to capture his lips.

Though it surprises him, he's quick to recover, running his blunt, work-weary hands over her hair and  
down her back. As they curl around her hips, she gasps, and she's light like thistledown, then, and  
heavy like the earth, and she feels like an ordinary girl.

But she opens her eyes to his, and her defences have crumbled, she reads him almost inadvertently,  
and he's so young that it hurts her, though barely older than she is. And he reminds her, suddenly,   
only of what she has lost. Thousands of memories have aged her, thousands of screams weigh her  
down, and she hasn't been a child since they cut her open.

She could kill him, with a flick of her wrist.

In that moment, all she can see is red, and all she can hear is the roar of her heart, pounding in her  
ears. She evades his questions and his touch, walking a tightrope back to the ship, afraid that she   
will fall, that she will burst, the way some stars do when they die, and she sneaks through _Serenity_'s  
bowels like a ghost, trailing her fingers and her thoughts along the walls.

The bridge is empty and dimly lit, but she doesn't mind, she slides into the pilot's seat, drawing her  
legs up and wrapping her arms tight around them, and the dinosaurs stare at her, unblinking, while  
her breathing slowly eases.

"Your brother's been looking for you. Should've figured you'd be here."

She is well aware of who it is, long before the words take shape, but she doesn't wish to be found,  
and buries her face against her knees with a grimace, willing him to leave.

"Point taken," he chuckles, and it sounds like he's turning round. "I'll let him know you're safe."

"Am I?" she mumbles against the fabric of her dress, the green flower dress Kaylee gave her for her  
birthday, and she isn't sure she means for him to catch the words, but he does, and hesitates.

"What's that, darlin'?"

She sucks her lower lip between her teeth and bites down. The memory is wholly hers, and so is  
the pain. "The roads are barred. The doors are locked. I can't go back."

"No," he replies, as if he understands, and she thinks that he might; the past haunts him too, with its  
rattles and chains. "But you can go forward, and I reckon that's about all any of us can do. _Serenity_  
trusts you," he continues, "and I trust you to keep us flying. Ain't given me reason not to, little albatross."

She shivers, soaking it up through her skin. _Trust_ . "I won't."

"Good."

He isn't there when she finally uncoils from her huddled posture, his footsteps have already echoed  
and faded, and it isn't peace that settles over her, in the silent dark, but it is a sense of calm. The  
dinosaurs still don't blink, and she tells them not to worry so. She will not go supernova, tonight.


	2. Growing Up

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River, and horses.  
**Author's note**: I have a few of these written already, so this will be updated quickly to begin  
with, later on it will be longer between parts. Feedback is appreciated.

**  
Growing Up **  
**by Hereswith**

There are horses, in a corral near the house where the meeting takes place, and she leaves the room,  
while the others are talking, for she has done her part and is needed no more, and the stampede of  
wordless nickers is far too strong to ignore.

It's easy to slip past the fence that keeps them in, it's a climb and a drop, and then she is walking among  
them, from toe to heel on the dry, dusty ground, winding her way in between.

A few horses shy from her at first, their nostrils flaring, but a blue roan mare stands very still, curious  
enough to condescend to be touched, and River strokes her withers, she feels her tremble with buoyant   
life. "Great heart," she whispers, "will you carry me?"

The roan turns her head. Worlds upon worlds are in her gaze and when she doesn't side step away,  
River wraps her fingers in the silky mane and takes the leap. Having mounted, she leans forward, hugging  
the mare's neck, her hair mingling with the horsehair, her cheek pressed against the coat that smells warm  
like the sun, and she closes her eyes.

As one, they breathe together and River loses herself, she scatters and melds, because the wind is wild   
over the plains, the long grass is singing, and in her mind she is running, the sound of her hooves like an  
echo of thunder.

"River?" The voice pulls her back, slowly and surely, and she remembers the past as well as the present,  
and the nights darker than the edge of the black, when she dreamed he would come for her. "_Mei-mei_?  
Are you ready to go?"

"Simon," she replies, as if language is new to her and she's trying out the name on her tongue. "I'm not  
a child."

He frowns, confused. "No. Of course you're not."

She slides off the horse, with a thank you only the two of them can hear, and the mare gently nips at River's  
skirt, then shrugs and trots off to join her own, snorting at Simon in passing.

"You still think I am," River continues, as she approaches the fence, and once she's over it, she reaches  
out to take Simon's hand in hers. He's taller than she is, her big brother, even now, and though she isn't  
the sister he hoped to save, he loves her, he does, like he always has. "Don't need to protect me anymore.  
I grew up."

He opens his mouth, then closes it, squeezing her hand, and he doesn't agree, but he doesn't argue and  
she smiles wide and bright, she lets go of him and spins around, saying it again, as if it's a secret she's  
chosen to share, "I grew up."

To Zoe, whose lips curve, just a little.

To Jayne, who mutters, "Gorram moon-brained girl."

And to the captain, who gives her a level look and says, "I expect you did, at that," as if he knew it all along.


	3. A Persistence of Memory

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River forgets, for a moment, where she is and why.  
**Author's note**: I have a few of these written already, so this will be updated quickly to begin  
with, later on it will be longer between parts. Feedback is appreciated.

**  
A Persistence of Memory **  
**by Hereswith**

River is standing, her arm held out rigid before her and the muzzle of her gun pointed at a man dressed  
in a white coat. She's the eye of the storm; she moves not a muscle, though she trembles inside.

With a curious detachment, she notes the pasty colour of his skin and his sparse, thinning hair, the  
greyish strands that cobweb his skull. She can name each of the cranial and facial bones, and she  
has learned how to break them. The human body is such a fragile thing, so easily damaged.

She isn't sure where she is, in that instant, or why, only that it's a lab, they experiment in the flicker of  
florescent light, and the man kneeling in front of her is a worker here. The slight hint of disinfectant in  
the air has her in a cold, clammy sweat, and her finger tightens on the trigger.

It's his tears that startle her; the glinting drops that trickle across his cheek. She used to cry, when  
they strapped her down, restraining her with their gentle smiles and soft, unyielding hands. She used  
to, but she stopped.

"Please," he mumbles, and his fear nearly drowns out his voice, she has to strain to hear him. "Please  
don't hurt me."

Something wells up in her, sharp and bitter, and her elbow unlocks. She turns her weapon upside  
down, hitting him with the butt of it, and he crumbles like a puppet would, without its strings, but he  
isn't dead. She doubles over, retching dryly as her stomach cramps and heaves, as if it seeks to rid  
itself of memory.

When she straightens, she spots the captain at the threshold. Shadows fall on him and through him,  
and his gun is drawn, but not raised. She skitters from reading him, knowing what he has witnessed.

"Maybe you're wrong to trust me," she tells him, and she's still feeling queasy, it's like she's spiralling  
downward, molecules giving way, though the soles of her boots are firmly planted on a solid floor.  
"The wiring's all mixed up. The system is faulty and inaccurate. It malfunctions, and I forget."

"You didn't shoot him," he reminds her.

She makes an impatient gesture, a hitch of her shoulder, a twist of her mouth. It's less crowded in   
her brain, but her own thoughts scramble to occupy the empty space, and they will not leave her be.  
"I wanted to."

"Last I checked, wanting weren't doing," he says, "and it's the doing might have me worried."  
A sudden noise, a clang as of metal struck, causes him to mutter a curse. "Best we get going, little  
albatross."

She cocks her head to the side, considering. "Have to bring the mice."

"Come again?"

"The mice," she repeats. "It's just two, and they're harming them. Stick the needles in, see how  
they run."

He searches her face and he looks to find her wavering so she doesn't. "Right," he relents, with  
a sigh. "But you'll keep them under control, or I will, _dong ma_?"

She's agreeing, even as she hurries to the steel and wire cages and opens them up. Shushing quietly,  
she hides the mice in her pockets, then, with a final glance at the unconscious, white-robed man,  
joins Mal at the door. "Ready."

He nods and they slip into the corridor, the constriction around her chest easing with every step that  
leads her away from that room. It's right, left, and left, and after that they're at the emergency exit,  
where Jayne is waiting.

"About time you—what the ruttin' hell?" he exclaims, as one of the mice peeks out a tiny, whiskered  
nose.

"Don't ask," Mal replies. "You've loaded the goods?"

"Yeah, Zoe's at the shuttle." Jayne stares suspiciously at the mouse. "What did you go allow her  
to take that for, Mal? Damn creature's probably flea-ridden and diseased."

"Impolite," River frowns, settling the mouse back into her pocket, "and it isn't true. Not in the sense  
you mean it."

His huff is almost a growl, but she ignores it, swishing him by to venture outside. Mal is a mere stride   
behind her and Jayne soon hastens to follow. They manage to reach the shuttle without being noticed  
and are up and away, and space-bound, before long.

_xx _

Simon greets them, on their return to the ship. It's what he usually does now, being both doctor and  
brother, and for the most part she doesn't mind, but she wishes, today, that he hadn't.

"How did it go?" he questions. There are no undertones, except those she imagines, but the gun  
she carries is like a leaden weight, the heaviest of burdens, and her heart stutters and skips a beat.

It's Mal who answers, in her stead. "Well enough," he says, as smoothly assuring as if it truly had.  
"Ain't that so, River?"

Her gaze darts to him, catching the tail end of a wry quirk of a smile, and she understands. He won't  
speak of it and she need not, he's given her that, and it suffuses her until she beams. "Yes, Captain."

"River?" her brother interrupts, sounding odd. "Is that a mouse?"


	4. Fields of War

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: A conversation on the catwalk.  
**Author's note**: I have a few of these written already, so this will be updated quickly to begin   
with, later on it will be longer between parts. Feedback is appreciated. Also, the name Malcolm  
is from Gaelic, meaning servant (disciple, devotee, follower) of Saint Columba.

**  
Fields of War **  
**by Hereswith**

Up he goes, up the steps, and he's heading towards her. There's little grace to his gait, but the set of  
his shoulders speaks of more than he would ever utter in words, and that has her attention. She sees  
the soldier in him, the years peeled away like apple skin, the carnage of the battlefield beneath his feet  
and the lines he won't cross. Mal, she thinks, is bad in the Latin, but Malcolm is someone who follows  
a man of God.

"Don't recall I hired you to loiter," he comments, halting right next to her.

"You didn't hire me. I was there and I became." She looks up at him. It's a funny angle, since she's  
lying on her side on the catwalk above the cargo bay, and the scuffed, knee-high boots and his legs  
take up most of her view. He looms over her like a giant in the tales from Earth-that-was. "It's a   
beautiful day for sailing. No shallows or sea-monsters. And she likes to have the helm."

It takes him aback for a moment, but he accepts it, with a short, low laugh. "Between you and Kaylee,  
I reckon you've got her figured out."

"I reckon we have," she replies, in a tone similar to his.

He shifts to lean against the railing, careful not to trample on her spread-about hair. "How are the  
mice faring?"

She sits up, curling in on herself at the mention. "Dying. They always were, but it won't be as painful  
now. Simon promised to help."

"That's a kindness."

It hovers between them, then, in the wake of his voice, what happened and what she nearly did, and  
she absently rubs her arm where the grating has marked it crosshatched. "He wasn't a threat," she  
says, as if he's asked her to explain. "Not armed, or dangerous. But he was like _them_, and I couldn't  
tell him apart." Breathing in, she shudders. "They had their friendly faces on. Said it would be fine,  
I didn't have to be afraid. But they lied. The equation wasn't true. Not large enough to hold so much  
inside. Not strong enough to make it stop."

She doesn't realise how hard she's rubbing, or that her nails are scratching her flesh, until he stills  
her hand with his, and she feels the sting of it. He's crouched down close to her and she tenses,  
but his grasp is loose and warm, and her fingers are terribly chilled.

"What those _hún dàn_ did to you, that was all kinds of wrong, but ain't none of it your fault." He  
shakes his head. "Takes strength aplenty to survive such treatment and keep even a piece of your  
own self intact. Not everybody does."

The war is a darkness in him, more tangible than it usually is, a sweep of valley where the sun won't  
rise, and the scars from each of the skirmishes he's fought ever since. Niska, and the hours that  
stretched out without mercy, and seemingly without end. She doesn't know the details, he guards  
them well and she won't pry that deeply, but she knows that he comprehends, in a way Simon can't.  
His dreams, like hers, are full of screaming.

"A person," she says, because that is another memory, painted in a different hue. Pieces can be  
fitted together, to form a pattern again. "Actual, if not quite whole."

"I haven't changed my opinion," he answers, "and I don't plan to."

She relaxes a fraction and, noting that, he removes his hand. When it's gone, she almost wishes it back.  
"I put the job at risk. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says, like it's that easy, like he lets it be that easy, this time. He stands, gesturing at her  
arm. "You ought to have that looked to."

"He'll fret," she mutters, and wrinkles her nose.

"No doubt," he agrees and, after a brief pause, "How about I convince the good doctor there's some  
matter needs discussing, away from the infirmary?"

The tiniest of grins escapes her. "Would you?"

"With nary a twinge of guilt, darlin'." He winks at her, a glint of humour in his eyes. "So, are you coming?"

And she's up, and with him, quick as a firefly.


	5. Balance Overturned

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River is made different, and Mal is surprised.  
**Author's note**: I have a few of these written already, so this will be updated quickly to begin   
with, later on it will be longer between parts. Feedback is appreciated.

**  
Balance Overturned **  
**by Hereswith**

Inara does River's hair as if it's a ritual, intricate and elaborate, like the making of tea, where every  
detail is of infinite importance. She combs through the tangles and snarls, coaxing gently until she's  
loosened them, until the strokes of the brush become long and slow, and as soothing as the brief  
touch of her hands and the soft, singing hush of her voice.

When it's finished, and River's hair is a glossy mantle of brown, Inara binds it up, coils it and pins  
it so it won't fly. The colours are applied after that, around the eyes and then feathered up the eyelids,  
and on the cheeks and lips, like a faint blush. River's awkward with it, and impatient, smudging by  
accident when her mind wanders, but she's fascinated by the play of light and shade on her skin,  
and the ways in which it transforms her.

Staring into the mirror, it seems to her that her reflection is something entirely separate, a stranger  
of elegant poise, who curves like a river, if not like Inara does. Someone who isn't River Tam at  
all or, perhaps, is the River Tam she would have been, had she stayed in her parent's house, had  
she attended their parties and functions. But when she sticks out her tongue, the reflection does  
too, and that reassures her.

"Look like a woman," she says, brows knit together. "Don't know how to be."

"It isn't a test you can pass or fail, _bao bei_," Inara smiles. "The only thing you have to do is to be   
yourself."

River frowns even further, and she puts her fingertips on the glass, tracing the outline of her face.  
"My mother would approve."

Inara hesitates, then leans forward to tuck in a stray, unruly strand by River's ear, the sweet scent   
of her reminding River of berries, crushed in her palm. "Do you miss her?"

River snatches her hand away from the mirror, a hollow burning at the back of her throat. She  
wrote those letters for her mother as well, and for her father, not just Simon, struggling her heart  
out with every nonsensical phrase and every word she misspelled. Hoping they would guess at  
the truth. But they hadn't. "She used to brush my hair, when I was little. Told me I did her proud,"  
she offers, evading the question. "She wouldn't say that now."

"She'd be a right fool, then."

"Mal!" Inara swirls, indignant. "What are you doing here?"

"We'll be coming up on Beaumonde in near an hour," he replies. "You might want to wave that  
client of yours."

River, with her back to him, unexpectedly finds that she's frozen in place, hesitant to let him see  
her like this: silk robed and made different, but she can't think why, there's no logic to it, so she  
turns round.

Mal's eyes drift to her and instantly widen. "_Ai ya_!" He casts an accusatory glare at Inara. "What  
the hell's this about?"

"Not deaf, or dumb." River retorts. "Not stupid. You can ask me."

His gaze meets hers and something flickers in him that crackles in her, before he quells it with full   
force, and she blinks, startled breathless.

"It ain't—" he begins, but Inara interrupts him.

"No." She moves to stand between them. "I won't have you make her uncomfortable over   
this, Mal."

His expression closes. "Are you throwing me out?"

"I never invited you in," Inara says, and her tone could be mistaken for mild, but she isn't ceding  
him an inch. "If you weren't in the habit of intruding, I wouldn't have to throw you out."

"Fine," he snaps, then glances at River, sharply captain-like and nothing more. "I'll be needing  
you on the bridge when we land."

She manages a stiff inclination of her head, and it befits her appearance, but she's very aware of  
the shape and boundaries of her body beneath these clothes, the glimpse of shoulder and the bare  
expanse of neck. Acknowledging her assent with a nod of his own, he does as he's been bid,  
stalking off and out of the shuttle.

Inara sighs. "River?"

"Barked but didn't bite," River answers, half distracted, and she twists to view that mirrored image   
again. "I'm all right."

She feels flushed, but it doesn't show, except as a hint in the dark of her eyes, and her thoughts  
are storm-tossed inside. She's glad, at that moment, that no one can read them.


	6. Wolf Hour

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: A conversation in the galley..  
**Author's note**: I have a few of these written already, so this will be updated quickly to begin   
with, later on it will be longer between parts. Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated.

**  
Wolf Hour **  
**by Hereswith**

She sleeps through the night, or what passes for night aboard _Serenity_, more often these days,  
but not always, and not this time. It's far too early for her to be up, it's a wolf hour, grey and  
bleak, before the imagined dawn, but slumber evades her, so she rises and puts her clothes on,  
very orderly, but not her boots. She wants the vibrations of the ship to hum through her, and to  
be able to wriggle her toes.

The nip of hunger drives her to the galley. It's a familiar route, she wouldn't get lost, even if  
the lights were out, or if she had her eyes tightly closed. She doesn't know, exactly, when or  
how this became home to her: the metal hull and the network of passages within, the niches   
and nooks, only that it has. At the Academy, waking again and again to a blank-walled prison,  
she had wished to die, prayed the knives would slip during surgery and make an end of her.  
But she lives and she finds herself here, and that is a comfort.

When she arrives at the entrance to the galley, she halts and hesitates, because Mal is sitting  
alone by the table. After a moment's indecision she slips into the room, allowing the soft  
padding of her feet against the floor to alert him to her presence.

"Dreams bothering you, little one?"

River skirts past the short side of the table and settles on one of the chairs, her right leg folded  
beneath her. "Thoughts going round and round," she replies. "Circles getting smaller. Paths  
leading to a singularity. I couldn't lie still."

"That's often the way of things," he comments. "The mind's a powerful enemy, if you ain't  
got the reins on it."

He was raised on a ranch, she's heard it mentioned, and she's glimpsed it in fragments of  
his childhood, brighter and rarer than the fragments of war. "My mind is troublesome," she  
admits. "Tends to take the bit and bolt. I can't hold on to the reins."

"You're young," he says. "You'll learn."

It's a contradiction as obvious as if he was wearing it on his sleeve, and she's swift to ask,  
"Have you?"

His mouth quirks slightly. "Walked straight into that, didn't I? No, not as well as I'd like, or  
I'd be snoring in my bunk right about now."

"Like Jayne?"

"Like Jayne," he agrees, and the merriment reaches his eyes.

They haven't talked together quite like this since he huffed and puffed and stomped out of   
Inara's shuttle and she can't help, or hope to curb the smile that breaks across her lips. "You  
went away. Please don't leave again."

He frowns. "_Shénme_? I haven't been away, unless you count that outing on Beaumonde."

She makes a grimace. "Not a distance that has to do with physical space," she explains, and  
he stiffens, his expression clearing as he follows her train of reasoning. "Worlds apart, inside.  
It isn't fair to punish me, when you were in the wrong."

He runs his fingers over his hair, silent to begin with, but he's working up to speak, so she  
waits, impatient, for it. "I ain't been aiming to punish you," he finally says. "I'd be one hell   
of a bad man if I had, and should I ever sink that low, you've full permission to shoot me."

"Feels like it," she counters, not caring if she's too blunt. "You shut me out. Push me away.  
Don't think that I notice, but I do." She ducks her head, staring fixedly at a darker spot on  
the tabletop. "It hurts."

He swears, long and hard, and his anger is a jagged blade, but the edge of it isn't directed  
at her. After a while, he adds, more gently, "River?"

She doesn't look at him, but she grits her teeth.

"I'm trying to apologise, darlin'," he continues, voice shaded rueful. "It's a gorram mess I've  
made of it, but I'll do better. All right?"

River inhales, slowly, and lets out that breath, even slower, before she glances up. "Yes.  
To start."

He raises a brow at the last part of it, but doesn't question her. "Didn't mean it harsh like it  
sounded, that day," he says, instead. "You surprised me something fierce, is all."

"I surprised myself," she concedes, giving him that much of an out. "But I was River beneath.  
I made sure."

"Yes, you were," he responds, and though his gaze on her doesn't set her to crackling, it's  
steady and it warms her.

Her stomach grumbles.

With a chuckle, he pushes his chair back and stands. "I'll see about breakfast, shall I? Might  
do both of us good."

He goes by her and River draws her other leg up, shifting in her seat. She regards him as he busies  
himself in the kitchen area: the bridge of nose and the line of jaw, the calm, efficient movements  
of his hands. It's a companionable quiet that falls around them, the sort that does without words.

And this, too, is a comfort.


	7. Stars Falling Down

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Inara is leaving, again.  
**Author's note**: Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated.

**  
Stars Falling Down **  
**by Hereswith**

She would have realised what had happened, even if she hadn't been a reader. The signs are  
there in plain view, two and two can easily be put together and the sums made to match up.  
She's not the only one who's felt it in the air, like the trembling of ozone before the rain, when  
the heavens are streaked blue-black above.

"Ain't right," Kaylee had muttered, stretched out on the sofa in the galley, her feet in Simon's  
lap. "Too gorram stubborn, the both of them."

When she catches sight of the captain standing on the slope near the ship, River remembers those  
words. The others are inside and she should be as well, but, like him, she's been straying. He's  
staring up into the dark spaces, the vast and the deep of night, his arms crossed over his chest,  
and his weariness tugs at her, but it isn't hers, not the cause of it, nor the easing.

"Conjure I don't need to tell you what course we'll be setting," he remarks, as she slides up next  
to him. "Or the rest of the crew?"

"No," she replies. "You don't."

His laugh is short, falls to ground like a stone, but he doesn't ask her to leave, so she lingers,  
craning her neck to gaze at the sky. She spots the large shooting star before he does, her intake  
of breath drawing his attention, and she tries to point it out to him, quickly but in vain, it's already  
faded.

"Don't matter none," he says. "But you've a wish to make."

She huffs. "Piece of debris that burns up in atmo. It's very pretty, but it can't grant my wishes."

"Ain't all math and science, little albatross," he chides, like he often has before, though the   
teasing in his tone is subdued. "There's things in the 'verse oughtn't be closely explained. Takes  
the magic clear out of them." At her frown, he adds, "What's the harm in it?"

She hesitates, momentarily, then closes her eyes, wrapping her mind around a single thought,  
holding on to it. When she looks up, he's regarding her with a hint of curiosity. "Not saying  
it out loud," she states. "It would be cheating."

"That it would." He shrugs, slightly, and a muscle clenches in his jaw. "It's late. We should be  
getting back in."

His steps are not quite reluctant, but slower than hers, as they head into the gaping mouth of  
the ship. He stops to talk with Zoe, in the cargo bay, and River continues on her own towards  
the upper levels. She doesn't honestly believe, but halfway up the stairs she darts a glance at him  
over her shoulder, and she hopes that she's wrong. Because she wished him peace.

_xx_

The day before they arrive at Sihnon, River steals off to Inara's shuttle, and she hovers uncertainly  
at the edges of it until the Companion smiles and says, "Come. Sit with me."

Inara takes a seat amidst the red and the gold, and River follows her example, sinking down   
and leaning back, the scents she always associates with this place, and this woman, heavy  
around her. "Must you go?"

Inara is quiet, then, and still. Her face and her posture reveal nothing, but that isn't the whole  
of the truth. She's trained to smooth out the wrinkles, to fold neatly away and be calm, when  
the winds blow the strongest.

"Yes. For now, at least," she finally answers, and her gaze is distant. "It wasn't a decision lightly   
taken, River, but it's one we both took, this time."

River pulls her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. "Too many gone," she says, voice low.  
"_Serenity_ will miss you. I will, too."

Inara's expression gentles, suddenly, and she shifts, touching a hand to River's arm, a slender  
hand, but there's strength in it. "And I you. It will be well, _bao bei_. All will be well. You'll see."

They do not speak of departure, or of the captain, again, after that, though River remains in  
the shuttle for a long while, and the conversation rarely falters. But later, when River's about  
to return to her own room, carrying gifts of silk and vibrant colour, Inara presses a kiss to  
River's forehead, and she whispers, "Keep them safe."

And River knows that she means each and every one of them, that she means Mal, and she nods,  
hair swinging, rustling. She can, and she will.

She will.


	8. Pass to Dust

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River suffers a loss.  
**Author's note**: Feedback is, as always, appreciated.

**  
Pass to Dust**  
**by Hereswith**

Two were the mice that she had spirited away, and they were fated to die, even before she took  
them, but they had clung to life, with teeth and tiny claws, and River had almost allowed herself to  
hope that, perhaps, they might survive.

But her hopes turn dark, without warning, when one of them collapses, and the other is stricken,  
soon after. There's nothing she can do, and there's nothing Simon can do, except fulfil his promise.  
And that is how it ends.

"River?" Simon asks, concerned.

"Don't." She stoppers her ears and closes her mind to him, not willing to listen, and he's her brother,  
he understands that much. He doesn't follow her, as she walks out of the room.

She goes into hiding in the heart of the ship, and stays there, alone, for a long while. She has no duties  
to attend to; _Serenity_ is planetside, so she isn't needed on the bridge. They pulled a heist for that sly  
fox of a Badger, and the pay has earned them a respite. They've no schedule to keep.

When she finally emerges, she's made a decision, and heads back to the infirmary, heedless of all else  
but what she intends to do, until she rounds a corner, and collides hard with the captain. The impact  
throws him off his axis, and he nearly topples, then regains his balance and grabs her shoulders.

"Whoa, girl! Could've knocked us both over." He catches her gaze, frowning slightly. "Simon told  
me. I'm sorry."

River raises her chin high. She could break his grasp, with a shrug or a single step back, but she doesn't.  
"Are you?"

"The mice weren't mine," he replies. "That don't mean I can't be sorry you're hurting. I've seen how  
you cared for them."

She swallows down, and there's an itch behind her eyelids and in her nose, like the prickle of tears.  
"I'm going to bury them," she confides. "Properly. In the ground."

"Ah," he says. "So that's what you're off to in such hurry, is it?" He studies her intently, and she gives  
a solemn nod in response. "Well, there's a copse a ways to the east, and I've the time to spare. If you'd  
like the company?"

She doesn't have to think or deliberate. "Yes."

_ xx_

River carries the mice in a box lined with cloth, and Mal carries a spade. The sun is past its zenith and  
the light is softened, but it's still warm. Neither of them speaks, so the sounds that fill up the air, instead,  
are the shuffle and crunch of their boots, and the occasional twitter of birds.

She finds a spot, in the shade of a spreading tree, and bends to mark it for Mal, tracing her finger in  
the dirt. "Don't have to dig deep and wide," she says, "the box is quite small."

"I'm a pretty decent hand at digging, River," he answers, amused. "Reckon I know what to do."

He sets to work and River perches, meanwhile, on a gnarled root, clutching the box to her. When the  
hole is done, she lowers the box into it, and makes certain the lid is secure. She has no flowers, and  
there are none growing close to where they are, but she spots a shrub with round, feathered blossoms,  
and plucks as many as she can hold from off the branches, careful not to prick herself on the thorns.  
Sinking to her knees, she strews the blossoms over the box until it's covered with white, then pushes  
the soil on top, patting it smooth.

"Cut too short," she mutters. "It isn't fair."

"It never is," Mal agrees.

She glances up at him where he stands, leaning on the handle of the spade, and his expression betrays  
his thoughts, like his voice did. He's counting the dead. Wash. Shepherd Book. Mr. Universe, as well.  
And the multitude of others, some of whom she's met, and some of whom she hasn't. "It doesn't get  
easier, does it?"

He hesitates, his lips a thin line. "No. Wish I could say to the contrary, but I can't. You leave some  
part of your own self behind, for each one you bury. Ain't no forgetting, and it changes you inside."

Her losses are fewer; she was barely familiar with death, before the Academy, but from what she's  
experienced of it, since, she believes him. Though it was Mal and Zoe who bore the worst of the fallout,  
from Miranda, none of them has escaped unscathed. Or unchanged. "But the pain fades."

"It always does," he replies. "At least enough it lets you breathe."

River stares down at the grave once more, and as the moments stretch out, in silence, the captain  
waits for her, without interposing. Trees and the turning earth. It's a good place to rest. She strokes  
lingeringly over where the mice lie—little creatures, little souls flickering out like candles—then gets  
to her feet, with a sigh and a quiet sniffle, brushing off her palms on her dress.

Mal lifts the spade, and, at her affirmation, they start off back to the ship. The wind has picked up,  
tossing her hair about, and the sky is clouding over.

"It'll rain before nightfall," Mal observes.

She regards him, feeling the strangest urge to slip her hand into his, but she curbs it. Besides, they are  
drawing nearer _Serenity_ and Jayne's in sight. But she says, while they can't be overheard, "Thank you."

Faint surprise fleets across his face. "What for?"

"For coming with me," she clarifies. "For everything."

He slows to a halt, briefly delaying their arrival. "Anytime, darlin'."

When he smiles, his eyes are very blue and they crinkle at the corners. She hasn't noticed it so  
strongly, before, and she's reminded, suddenly, of how he looked at her, that day in Inara's shuttle.

And she realises, with a sense of wonder and perfect clarity, just how much she wants him to look  
at her like that again.


	9. Down by the Water

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River sees her captain in a new light.  
**Author's note**: Apologies for the long wait! I'll try to update this series more frequently  
from now on. Feedback is appreciated.

**  
Down by the Water **  
**by Hereswith**

Her head is in the sun and her boots are too high, too snug and laced too tight. Feathered flower  
seeds glide through the air, tumbling and whirling like flakes of snow, and the river bends in gentle  
invitation where they are waiting, she and Mal.

She wrinkles her nose, considering. "Do you think it's cold?"

"What's cold?" he asks, and when she points at the river, his brows shoot up. "You're in the mind  
to take a swim?"

"Won't swim," she explains. "I'll wade. My feet are on fire."

"That so?" he replies. "Go on, then. It'll be a while before Zoe's here with the Mule, I reckon."

She walks across a patch of yellowed grass that breaks beneath her tread, and when she reaches  
the bottom of the slope, the ground flattens out, filling with gravel and pebbles. River stoops to untie  
her boots and pull them off, then hitches her skirt up and plunges in. It's cool enough the bite of it  
makes her gasp, but it snaps her out of sluggish daze and she goes deeper, until she's submerged  
halfway to her knees. The water is clear, not murky with mud. It flows past her, tickling her skin,  
and before she can stop herself, she imagines another, far more deliberate kind of caress, and her  
cheeks flare a brighter colour.

She's disordered inside, where she wasn't, before. Tangled in spider-spun webs and yarn. He's  
still her captain, that hasn't changed, but her perception shifted and realigned, when she forgot to  
take notice, and she woke wide-eyed to see him anew. She can't be Inara for him, or Nandi, and  
she wouldn't want to be, even if she could. She's River, carving a place of her own. Mending.  
Metamorphosing. Almost, almost a woman, and he's a man; his hands have cradled death, like  
hers, and the shape of them is different from the dark-haired boy's, so if he touched her like _that_,  
the feel of them would surely be different, as well.

She stumbles, tripped by her musings, and, until the chaos settles like dust and becomes something   
manageable, shies from looking behind her. When she finally does, she discovers that Mal is standing  
near the edge of the water. He isn't regarding her, though as she approaches, the splash of her   
passage attracts his attention. His smile is faint, but it's there.

"It's nice," she says, in a tone he doesn't mistake.

"_Juéduì bù_," he answers. "I ain't getting in, and that's that."

"Coward," she grins, and flicks a hand so that a rain of drops scatters over him. He springs back,  
sharply exclaiming, but he takes no offence, shrugging it off with a hint of laughter in his face.

River moves out of the water and flops down on the bank to dry, reluctant to put her boots on again.  
Stray flower seeds drift past and catch on her dress, and she picks them off, setting them free.

"Reminds me of home," he says, of a sudden. "Of Shadow."

She glances up at him, expecting more, and when he doesn't continue, she prompts, "How?"

He casts her an amused glance. "Would've figured you were reading that."

"I said I wouldn't pry, if I could help it," she frowns, in response. "Besides, I like words. They are  
layered and shiny. Onions and jewels. I like to hear you speak."

"So you keep telling me."

"Keep telling you because it's true," she reproves. "You should start to listen."

"Maybe I should," Mal agrees, and gazes towards the river. "We used to go fishing, me and Ol'  
Buck-Tooth. One of the ranch dogs," he adds, to explain. "Ain't exactly alike, but there's something   
about the place jogs the memory. Gorram _fēng le_ mutt always got into trouble." He shakes his head,  
breathing in around some buried pain. "Long since, now, and nothing's left of it."

"Made a shadow of Shadow and a ghost," she says, quietly, and she remembers the conversation  
they had on the bridge, when she was coming apart. "Do you wish you could go back?"

His silence is thoughtful, not dismissive and it doesn't exclude her. "Some days," he admits, "more  
than others."

River nods, digging her toes in between the small, loose stones. "Isn't easy going forward, you slip  
and slide, unless you're careful, and then you fall."

"I know," he says. "Trick's finding something to hold on to, and not let go."

She need not ask what he found. _Serenity_. The ship. And she understands that, she comprehends it,  
for she's clutching at metal, too, in the dark moments, when the monsters crawl from under her bunk  
and won't leave her be.

Before she can reply, the sound of the Mule encroaches, then Zoe calls out, "Sir? River?"

With a slight grimace, River grasps her boots and means to push herself up, but Mal offers his hand  
to her, instead. She doesn't hesitate to take it, but she does so and quivers throughout, as his fingers  
wrap around hers. With a firm tug, she's upright and close to him, and his voice washes over her,  
a heat stronger than the heat from above.

"You'll do just fine, little albatross."

Her heart turns and spins, wild in her chest, but he's already released her, he's on his way up the  
slope and she stares after him, her brain overcrowded with the words she didn't say.


	10. Path of Collision

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Certain things come out into the open.  
**Author's note**: Feedback is, as always, appreciated.

**  
Path to Collision **  
**by Hereswith**

Mal and Jayne are in the cargo bay, stacking the crates containing the supplies they've undertaken  
to deliver, safe and sound, to a nearby moon, and River wanders towards them, not in a straight  
line, but in a waving, unhurried one. Jayne is oblivious to the fact that she's approaching, but Mal  
glances briefly in her direction, his gaze taking her in, before he bends down to continue working.

They are about done, when she reaches them, and Jayne stretches his back with a groan, then turns.  
"Gorram it!" he exclaims, flinching at the sight of her right behind him. "Ain't nice sneaking up on  
a fella like that!"

"Wasn't sneaking," she replies, hopping up to sit perched on top of two of the crates, her legs  
dangling. "You didn't look. The captain spotted me."

Jayne casts a questioning glare at Mal, who nods. "Figures," he mutters. "You've been spending  
too much time 'round her, Mal."

"Could be that I have," Mal agrees. "Or it's you that's spent too little."

Jayne harrumphs at the notion. "That ain't likely," he says, but the statement isn't so harsh in tone  
that it bothers her. He's Jayne and he's becoming used to her, in his fashion. "Well, I'll be off,"  
he informs them, patting his stomach. "Going to fix me some grub."

"You do that," Mal says and, as Jayne departs, disappearing into _Serenity_, leans casually against   
a stack of crates, regarding River. "Something you'd care to talk about, is there?"

"I'm better," she tells him. It's how she begins, because that's foremost, that's important. "Clicking  
into place."

"So I've noticed," he answers. "Haven't had company in the galley for a long while." Her brow  
furrows, and he adds, with a slight chuckle, "Ain't a bad thing. Leastwise one of us is getting  
proper rest."

He means to assure her, to erase her sudden frown, but she gleans the shimmer deep beneath the  
surface, though it doesn't reflect in his expression, and she says, "I'd ease the nightmares, if I could."

It surprises him a bit, but he soon regains his ground. "That's mighty kind of you, little one, but  
I don't reckon you can."

In her mind, she's imagined this conversation a thousand times, playing out the parts, but it wasn't  
like this. The cargo bay is lit to brightness and altogether real, as is the captain, with his hair ruffled  
and his hands hooked in his gun belt, and she's fluttery with nerves, the ship's gravity might not  
hold her. "Can't I, or won't you allow it?"

He grows very still, both on the outside and on the inside, and she can feel, without trying or wishing  
to, how he draws back from her again, further than ever before. Far enough that she expects him  
to wave her contention aside, or ignore it, and she clenches her fists around the edge of the crate.

When he finally speaks, his voice is firm and even, "You don't know what you're asking, River."

She snaps across, at that, in a surge of temper. "Don't I?" she counters, jumping to the floor, so  
that she's standing in front of him. "I'm not innocent. _They_ made that impossible. Opened me up  
and stripped me bare to the core. I _know_."

His posture stiffens. "That don't make it right. More the contrary."

"It isn't _wrong_," she insists.

"Darlin'," he sighs, exasperated, and it isn't the endearment it might have been, but it's more than  
it should have been, if he was unaffected. He straightens and covers the few steps that separate  
them. "One day," he says gently, "you'll find the 'verse's bigger than _Serenity_ and you'll leave us  
behind." She starts to protest, but he puts a finger over her mouth to shush her and, for a moment,  
she's distracted. "I'm old, damaged goods, _bao bei_. I'm not what you need. Believe me."

She doesn't. She parts her lips, a fraction of a fraction, almost unconsciously, sensation welling  
in her at the brush of contact. His eyes narrow, shifting into a darker blue, but he still lowers  
his hand.

River releases an unsteady breath. "Have I no say in it?"

He's silent, weighing it. "No."

That single word hurts like a physical pain, a slap that stings her cheek. "_Bù gōng_. You're worse  
than Simon."

He makes a grimace, in obvious distaste at the comparison, but doesn't argue against it. "You're  
my pilot," he says. "My crew. While you're on this ship, you're my responsibility, and I'll be  
damned to gorram flaming perdition if I break that trust. You've my friendship, for what it's worth,  
but I can't offer you more."

"I don't—" She catches herself, with a frustrated toss of her head. "Can't measure the worth,  
or calculate it accurately with numbers. You _see_ me. You let me be River, as I am. Always have.  
How could I not want more?"

"Others will, same as me, I've no doubt of it," he reasons. "Boys that's your age."

"They won't be you."

He inhales, sharply, but it changes nothing. "I'll not be swayed on this."

She resists the urge to stomp her foot, to yell at him. He won't listen to her now, his determination  
pushing at her like a wall, so she twists around, awkward in her anger, and makes for the catwalk.  
He doesn't call out her name, and it's only when she's on the stairs, and the absence of it is brought  
forcibly home to her, that she realises she's been hoping he would.

Foolish girl. Foolish, _foolish_ man.

She's turned the idea of it over and over in her thoughts, until it's water-washed like a stone, soft  
and smooth to the touch, until it fits snug in her palm and makes sense. He won't give in, but she  
won't give up.


	11. Moths to the Flame

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: It's an impossible balancing act.  
**Author's note**: Feedback is, as always, appreciated.

**  
Moths to the Flame **  
**by Hereswith**

During the course of dinner she watches him, surreptitious as she can be, using the fall of her hair  
and the veil of her lashes to obscure her purpose. But she can tell that he marks it, and he takes  
assiduous care to avoid turning to her too often with either looks or words.

Since her admission, and she doesn't—_won't_—regret that she made it, he's been struggling for  
something like balance, striving to be as open and honest with her as he can, while still guarding his  
tongue and his actions and his behaviour towards her. But it's an impossible, contradictory task  
and a strain on them both. He sleeps in fitful bursts and she's stretched thin between the walls of  
the ship, skittering on the forbidden as she sifts through the fragments and refracted splinters of him,  
but even his unconscious holds her at arm's length. She hasn't once caught him dreaming of her.

She picks at the food, shuffling it around on the plate for lack of hunger, and the sounds buzzing  
around her blend to mesh: Jayne relates a fighting brawl, Kaylee whispers in Simon's ear, and Zoe's  
laughter rings out, somewhat dimmed but returned, at least, from where grieving buried it deep.

Mal is rarer heard, and when he shoves his chair back and stands, River's hand pauses in mid-air,  
the fork hovering suspended. She has no excuse to follow him, it would be incongruous were she  
to run at his heels, and she puts the fork down with a clink as he quits the galley.

This is torture, she thinks, unlike to any _they_ devised for her.

_xxx  
_  
The bridge echoes empty without him, and nothing, not _Serenity_, the dinosaurs, or the mechanics  
of flying, can allay the feeling. Since no immediate dangers lurk around them in this section of space,  
River switches to autopilot and, while she's leaning forward, adjusts the stegosaurus, which has been  
disturbed from its post.

"Be vigilant," she instructs it, stroking the jagged plates and spikes, before she slips out into the corridor.

Scheduled night is arriving and she ought, perhaps, to go to her room, but she's strangely reluctant,  
and her feet take her, instead, to Inara's shuttle. It has remained as Inara left it, shorn of some of the   
previous opulence, but not made barren, there's silk and colour and quiet there yet.

Having set a lamp to burning, she curls up on the bed, spreading the fingers of her right hand across  
the cover, and she imagines that she can pick out the lingering trace of Inara, tossing about in this  
spot, her mind, like River's, on the captain. Malcolm. _Mal_. And River wonders how the older woman  
would react, what advice or scolding she might give, if she knew.

With a small but heavy sigh, River closes her eyes, and she doesn't mean to doze off, but it happens,  
even so, and she rouses an undetermined amount of time later to another presence inside the shuttle.  
She glances up, confirming it by sight, and her heart skips a beat. "Did I go missing?"

"No," Mal replies. "The others are like enough asleep. I saw the light, was all."

"A light kept in the window," she says, with a half-yawn, nodding against the burgundy fabric. "Guides  
a traveller home."

"Don't rightly work like that out in the Black."

"It might." She doesn't add that, in her view of things, it already has, for it led him here, when she  
most longed for him to come. "Don't go."

His features cloud over. "River—"

"Friends," she reminds him, pushing herself into a sitting position. "Just friends, I promise. Besides,   
we're fully dressed."

"That could be debated," he observes, his gaze sliding to where her skirt, without her being aware  
of it, has ridden up to reveal her legs, pale as they are.

A tingle goes through her, but she quickly tugs the hem down. "There. I'm decent."

The corners of his mouth twitch, though he attempts to suppress it. "Not the best of notions, anyhow."

River tilts her head and says, "It isn't me you don't trust, is it?"

He flinches, it's undeniably visible, and she worries that she has rushed it, that he'll break before he  
bends, even that little. But it seems the question piques him, as well, and he rubs at his dark-stubbled  
jaw, his eyes tired, as if he's been too long at battle. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, with his  
back towards her, the tension that hums through his bones as palpable to her as the hum through   
_Serenity_'s metal skeleton, and she moves over to the other side, giving him room, and lies down  
to wait.

He doesn't speak, and neither does she. At last, his shoulders heave under the weight of some  
decision, and she bites her lip and crosses her fingers, because it looks like he's about to up and   
make his escape. But then, without first taking off his boots, he stretches out beside her, gingerly,  
so that no part of him bumps against her, and the mattress dips and shifts to accommodate him.

"This ain't to be a habit."

"No," she says, hiding the spark of her grin. She doesn't reach for him, it's that frail a truce struck  
between them; she won't risk it crumbling like moth wings. And she's promised to be good.

She inches closer, though, so that her face is near his shirt-sleeved upper arm, and she breathes  
in the fresh scent of detergent and beneath that, the warmth of him. He won't stay until morning,  
and her guess is that the lamp being extinguished and a blanket tucked around her will be the only  
signs of his passing. He'll be the captain, when she wakes, and his shields will be up. But for now,  
in this moment, he's hers.


	12. Standing His Ground

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Mal is being stubborn.  
**Author's note**: Feedback is still highly appreciated.

**  
Standing His Ground **  
**by Hereswith**

She asks, and persists in asking, practically bouncing on the spot as she unfolds the poster she's  
found stuck to a wall and shows it to him, and in the end Mal throws his hands up and agrees   
to them remaining landlocked for one day more than planned, so that she can attend the dance  
performance that's to be held in the town.

"Long as you don't expect me to go," he cautions, frowning. "Take Simon."

"I'd love to see it," Kaylee interjects, turning to River. "It'd be nice, wouldn't it? The three of us?"

River, with a twinge of disappointment, forces a nod, her lips clamped shut to cage in the protest  
that's already formed in her throat, and it isn't that she dislikes having Simon and Kaylee come  
along, not that, but she would rather it was the captain. Even though she knows why he won't.

"Shiny!" says Kaylee. "Then it's decided!"

It's an out of the way town on an out of the way planet, and the auditorium is small, but it's well  
kept, and the decorations are finely crafted. Kaylee comments, bubbly bright, on the people and   
the surroundings, and River is content to leave most of the talking to her brother, fidgeting in  
anticipation until the curtain lifts and it begins.

The dancers are amateurs, not trained professionals. Not as skilled or drilled to perfection  
as those in the productions she went to with her parents, back _before_. They do their best,   
however, exuberance masking the flaws, and it's enough to sweep River up high, the quick,  
light movements and the music like a second pulse beating through her veins.

There are instances, as she's watching one young woman, in particular, and the flowing curve  
and stretch of slim-shaped limbs, when it hurts her, when the sharp, white fangs of might have   
been's and should have been's cut into the bone. But delight wins over, and, as the final applause  
breaks out and Kaylee leans over to nudge at her with gentle insistence, River grudgingly tears   
herself out of the glimmering daze.

She can't stop smiling, not even once they are back on _Serenity_, and while Simon and  
Kaylee head toward the galley, River is off to the bridge, picking out steps in the corridor and  
gliding afloat. When she enters through the doorway, Mal gets up from where he's sitting in the  
pilot's seat, disturbed from his musings, and he greets her with a smile of his own.

"So," he says, "you enjoyed it, did you?"

And she's brimful and overflowing, she forgets herself, forgets everything, and rushes forward,  
with a blurted, "Thank you," flinging her arms around him.

The clash of it stuns them both immobile, and sends a shockwave crackling through her nerve  
ends, strong like an engine's blast, reminding her that she's solid matter, that she has a body and  
that the length of it is pressed up against his, not skin to skin, but their clothes are a mere flimsy  
barrier between.

"Mal," she breathes, sneaking her fingers over suspenders, planes of shoulders and spine, and  
maybe he trembles, or she does, but then he seizes firm hold of her, wresting free of her embrace.

"_No_," he tells her, again, adamant and resolute, and it grates, it scrapes like a burr. She'll grow  
to hate that combination of letters, with a fire and fervour, if he continues like this.

"I didn't—" River trails off, pushing back an offending wisp of hair that has tumbled across  
her face. To claim she didn't mean it, at least not in the sense he's interpreted it, would be an  
outright lie. She did. She still does. It's like an ache in her, surging unquiet beneath. "I want  
to be with you."

"_Tian xiao de_," he mutters, low through gritted teeth. "Don't say that."

"Wouldn't be taking advantage," she maintains, grappling for arguments to counter his, reasons  
that might somehow convince him. "It's my choice, as much as yours. We could—"

"We can't," he interrupts. "_I_ can't." His gaze meets hers and what she reads in it, what she  
Reads in him, is something heavy and leaden, like regret. "This—attachment's going to fade.  
Might not seem so to you now, but it will. And you'll be thanking me, come that time."

There are three steps to where he stands, that's all. Three steps and a black hole void.  
_Infatuation_, that's the word he almost, but didn't, use. Her stomach ties in knots. "What   
if it won't?"

Mal shakes his head, denying it. "I'm sorry, little one."

He has to pass her to walk from the room, and when he does, he halts alongside of her for   
a lingering second, hesitating, but she refuses to look at him and she won't absolve him. He _  
should_ be sorry and if it plagues him, if it pains him, like it pains her, even better.It might be  
a spiteful thought, but she doesn't care.

"Don't need you on the bridge," she snaps, and it's a marvel her voice carries, that it doesn't  
splinter in mid air, but she's grateful for it. "I have the heading, and the course mapped out."

From the very corner of her eye she catches sight of his fist closing tight against the contrasting  
coloured stripe running down the leg of his trousers, though he says only, and in a tone short   
enough that it's a match to hers, "Good."

For as long as he's within earshot, she fights the tidal rise of tears, but after that, they spill  
unchecked, blurring her vision and wetting her cheeks. The dinosaurs alone bear witness to  
it, and they will keep her secret silent.


	13. Coming to Light

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River finds someone to talk to.  
**Author's note**: Feedback is, as usual, appreciated. In the last paragraph, River alludes  
to this line, from the poem "Sea Fever" by John Masefield - "And all I ask is a tall ship  
and a star to steer her by..."

**  
Coming to Light **  
**by Hereswith**

River leans over the side of the Mule, her chin propped on her arms and her hair whipping  
against the metal. The landscape around them is dull and arid, burned by sun to dust and  
dotted with gnarled bushes and rocks, and lined, in the far distance, by undulating hills. She  
stares at it, through it, like she has for the last quarter of an hour.

Mal and Zoe are up front, and it's never before occurred to River to envy Zoe her close   
familiarity with the captain, or the ease of their conversation, but right this instant she does.  
It's sliding so smoothly along, without hindrances or hidden pitfalls. Then again, she's never  
imagined that she would begrudge Kaylee those casual touches, either, and yet something  
had twisted inside her, that morning, when Mal had briefly hugged Kaylee to him. And River  
had, in fleeting despair, wished that it _would_ fade. That she'd be over him.

_Aiya!_ Mathematics is simpler, and physics. The captain she can't figure out how to solve,  
and she's drained and wrung out with trying. She turns her head slightly to look forward. _  
Serenity_'s hull is in view, beginning to loom larger and larger, and it doesn't take long until   
they arrive. As soon as the Mule is at a standstill in the cargo bay, River climbs down, and  
Mal's gaze is on her, she can feel it to the tips of her fingers and toes.

He doesn't address her, and she doesn't wait for it.

_xx_

That same afternoon, River is seated on a chair in the galley, munching on an apple, while  
Zoe's in the kitchen area, making coffee. When River declined having some, Zoe proceeded  
with the preparations in quiet, and it's lulled River to a sense of complacency, which is jolted  
by the sound of Zoe's voice.

"You and the captain not on speaking terms, are you?"

River gulps, and almost chokes on a piece of apple, because she's straightaway _certain_  
what the question is intended to gauge. It's a deliberate, calculated manoeuvre and she could,  
she supposes, dissemble and feign ignorance, but she's struggled so with this alone and maybe  
it would help to confide in someone. She puts the part-eaten apple core on the tabletop.  
"He told you?"

"No," Zoe replies. She takes down a white and blue mug and fills it with steaming liquid.  
"He wouldn't. But what he don't say is loud as words, most times, and I've the eyes to see.  
He's been fierce on edge lately. And so've you." She glances at River with frank directness.  
"Probably good that brother of yours hasn't been paying attention."

"Wouldn't present a problem, even if he did," River mutters, though, to be honest, the   
possibility of Simon learning of her predilection for their captain doesn't appeal to her. He  
would have _opinions_. "He and Mal could join sides together. Both agreeing it's wrong."

"Ah," says Zoe, as if some private suspicion has been confirmed. She walks over to the  
table and sits from across River, stirring a spoon in the coffee before sipping it. "That's the  
way of it, then?"

River nods. The way and the crux of it. "Do you?" she ventures to ask, and at Zoe's cocked   
brow, elaborates, "Think it's wrong?"

Zoe studies her, her expression measuring. "Would it matter any if I did?"

"Yes," River says, because it's Zoe, when it gets to the nuts and bolts of things. Mal and  
Zoe, with the memories and the stories to bind them. "It would."

Zoe settles back in the chair, mug in hand, considering her answer. "Ain't my business," she  
says, at length. "But you're old enough, and healed enough, now, as I reckon it, to know  
your own mind."

Hearing it spelled out, River exhales in a rush, then makes a wry face. "He doesn't  
believe that."

The smile that ghosts over Zoe's lips holds a hint of sympathy. "He sets the rules for himself  
harsher than he does for others. Did in the war, as well. And it's near impossible getting him  
to budge, once he's decided." She pauses a moment. "He cares for you, that's plain."

River shifts, her cheeks heating. But it hasn't been doubts about him caring that has troubled  
her the worst. "He cared for Inara," she says, with all the implications that follow.

"Yes," Zoe concedes. "But you ain't her." It's a statement of fact, not a judgement or   
comparison. "Give it time. He might come around. Wash and I—" She cuts the sentence  
short, looking suddenly grave and a thousand light years away. "What seems wrong, at  
the first, can end up seeming just right."

There's the stomp of footsteps, unmistakable even before the question is thrown out,   
"What're you two up to?"

Zoe's shrug banishes the mood that was on her, and she exchanges a quick glance with  
River, then says, "Girl talk, Jayne. Nothing of interest."

"Hey!" he protests, grabbing one of the apples from the bowl on the table and biting right  
into it. "There's girl things aplenty I find interesting." He grins. "You weren't talking 'bout  
me, were you?"

Zoe gives a little snort of derision. "That'll be a cold day in hell."

River doesn't enter into the fray of the banter, but the corners of her mouth tip up, as  
she listens. After Miranda, when she had struggled to fit into her new skin, shedding her  
old one like some mystical creature, she had expected the crew to resent her. Zoe,  
especially. But she hadn't been shunned or cast to the darkest depths, and later on,  
Zoe had said to her, in oblique acknowledgement, _You're minding the dinosaurs.  
He'd have liked that_.

A ship, and the stars to steer her by. A place to belong. It's what she has been given,  
and it's something precious. Something she wouldn't leave behind, like Mal had reasoned  
she would, no matter how big the 'verse.


	14. Breaking Rhythm

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River makes a new acquaintance.  
**Author's note**: Feedback is shiny.

**  
Breaking Rhythm**  
**by Hereswith**

The lights are dimmed red and blue, and the bar is crowded up with people. River is aware of  
them, but not too uncomfortably so, it's a trickling stream at the fringes of her consciousness,   
white noise that she's able to ignore, not a riptide dragging her under.

A man saunters towards her, when she quits the washrooms, singling her out. She knows what  
he wants, he exudes it like a vapour, and she knows how he views her: as some wispy, willowy  
creature, who will shake and tremble in his wind.

"Name's Reid. What's yours?"

She regards him with wary caution. His chest is puffed up to impress, and his teeth are bared.  
"I don't like you."

Reid gives a hoarse bark of amusement. "No matter. I'll soon have you warming up to me,  
sweetheart."

He leans too close, draping his arm around her, and she places her palm flat against his  
breastbone, which momentarily stays him. "No, you won't," she says. "You imagine you're  
a predator, but you're not. And I'm not prey."

Though Reid colours, he doesn't let go of her, merely tightens his hold. "I'll ruttin' well show  
you—" he mutters and attempts to kiss her.

She doesn't put full force behind the blow. There's no sense in inflicting fatal damage and this  
isn't the Maidenhead, where she was triggered and robbed of control. Her actions, and her  
strikes, are all her own.

He yelps, stumbling back stunned and clutching his bleeding nose. Anger builds to erupt in him,  
and he makes another grab for her. She trips and fells him, with a smooth, precise sequence  
of motions, and it's always, _always_, almost like dancing, but not quite.

It isn't the kind of bar where the customers meddle, so while some whisper and take notice,  
no one approaches, except for a man with a black scowl that's twisting his features askew.  
River straightens, assuming position, but he never reaches her. Mal blocks his path, and it  
brings the man up short.

"Better you take care of that friend of yours," says Mal. "We ain't out for trouble."

"Gorram girl's done gone and attacked Reid! For no good reason!"

River bristles at the injustice. "He didn't comprehend. Wouldn't listen. I had to make him."

At her comment, the man spits a vile oath in her direction, and Mal pushes his coat aside, in  
fair warning, to reveal his gun. "Seems to me he had it earned," he observes. "So 'less you've  
a powerful hankerin' to end up in a like state, I'd suggest you skedaddle. Both of you."

The man glares from Mal to River to Reid, and back to Mal, as if he's considering his options.  
Then he suddenly lets out a scoffing huff of air, and bends to help the dazed and groaning  
Reid to his feet.

Mal relaxes, visibly, as the two of them head off, following his advice. "River?"

She flexes her fingers, breathing in. "I'm not hurt."

He glances at her sideways. "That's a mean right hook you've got there, darlin'. Poor fella  
didn't have a prayer."

It's partly teasing, but most of it is genuine appreciation, and it shouldn't, it ought not to make  
her smile, not when she's mad at him. But it does. Annoyed, she squashes the smile dead.

Mal frowns. "We can't keep—"

His gaze drifts to focus on something behind her, and she wheels around, still high on the  
residual rush of adrenaline.

"Easy now, princess! I'm not the enemy."

The speaker wears a trimmed beard and his reddish-blond hair tied back at the neck.  
He's young, he's grinning, and he has his arms raised in surrender. River doesn't recognise  
him, but she barely has time to wonder at his identity before a second, grey-grizzled bear  
of a man appears.

"Malcolm Reynolds!" he booms, and it betrays him as the old comrade of Mal and Zoe's  
from the war, whom they have come here to visit. "It's been too long!"

"Borden," says Mal, stepping forward. He stretches out his hand and Borden shakes it,  
clapping Mal heartily on the shoulder, as well, then gestures at the young man.

"You remember my son, Kev?"

"Course I do," Mal confirms, nodding at Kev. "Hasn't been _that_ long."

Kev echoes the greeting, but his attention, River notes, with a start of surprise, is quickly  
returned to her. "And you must be—?"

"River," she answers. "I'm the pilot."

Kev sketches a neat bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She stares at him, bemused, and Borden chuckles. "Quite the gentleman, eh? Not  
something he's got from me, that's for damn sure." He looks around. "Where's the  
lovely Zoe, and the others?"

"Out on the terrace," Mal replies, his eyes on Kev.

"Well, let's go fetch 'em, then!"

Borden takes the lead, and he pulls Mal along with him, leaving River and Kev to trail  
behind. They walk in silence, to begin with. When River opens her mouth, it's at the same  
moment Kev opens his, and their words snag and collide.

Kev laughs. "You first."

"You saw what happened?" she asks, his earlier reaction to her having implied as much.

"Didn't realise you were one of _Serenity_'s crew till I spotted Mal, but oh yes, I saw  
you alright." He shakes his head in amazement. "Where'd you learn that?"

A chill tiptoes down her spine. "Places," she says, and doesn't mention the lamps flashing,  
swinging, the sound of the syringe being tapped, or the square white room, without windows,  
where _they_ had her train.

"Places? Some _places_ that must've been," Kev remarks, and he makes no effort to  
hide his curiosity, but he doesn't press her for details. "So," he adds, instead, drawing the  
syllable out of proportion. "You aren't—together with anyone aboard, are you?"

"_No_." It's sharper, more shot through with emotion than she intends it to be, and she tries  
again. "No."

Kev's expression brightens. "You'll forgive me, I hope, if I say I'm glad?"

He's flirting with her, and it has her off-centre, it doesn't compute, but she isn't so certain that  
she minds. He's handsome and nice enough, and it's change, such a change—she casts a glower  
at Mal's back—from constant turndown. She'll bask in it, she decides, for the couple of days  
they are to remain. "Yes. I will."

She can tell that Mal has heard her, because there's a slight break, hastily covered, in his stride.


	15. A Slow Burn

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: A day's outing leads to a confrontation.  
**Author's note**: Reviews are shiny. I'd love to hear what you all think.

**  
A Slow Burn **  
**by Hereswith**

Borden's ranch is sprawled in the foothills, on the farthest outskirts of a town. They breed  
horses, long-legged, elegant beasts, and there's a garden with flowers in bloom, by the grace  
of Kev's mother, now since passed away. _Plenty of room for the lot of you_, Borden had  
said, and it wasn't boasting, the house is large and it holds them all and to spare.

That morning, River doesn't open her eyes to the darkness in _Serenity_'s interior, broken  
only by artificial light, but to the sight of dust motes spiralling in the slanting rays of a sun. It's   
peaceful, and she lies, for a long while, merely _being_, watching the glinting specks of gold  
and listening to the chitter of birds outside, before she rises.

Downstairs, Kev lounges in a chair with a cup of tea, and he smiles wide at her. "Did you   
sleep well?"

She nods, taking some bread and the boiled egg that's been abandoned in a basket on the  
side table. "Am I late?"

"Not really," he says. "Your brother and Kaylee aren't up yet, Mal and Zoe are with my  
father, trading more stories, no doubt, and Jayne—he's around, I suppose." He hesitates,  
regarding her expectantly. "I was thinking. We could go riding, the two of us?" River's head  
comes up and her excitement must have shone clear, for Kev continues, amused, "I'll count  
that as a 'yes'."

_xx_

She slips a note under the door for Simon, and ponders, for a moment, informing Mal of her  
plans, then decides against it. She's River, the girl, here, more than she is River, the pilot,  
and he's probably busy.

"There's this spot I'd like to show you," Kev says, as they leave, both horses at an eager  
trot. "Up in the hills."

His vision of the waterfall is so strong it's distinct to her, but River keeps her tongue in check,  
rather than risk making a ruin of the day. She ducks to avoid a branch, hand on the pommel.  
"What is it?"

"Patience, princess," he teases. "You'll have to wait and see."

So she waits. Her horse, a sorrel gelding, is a fierce wind, _Kuáng Fēng_, it's what he's called,  
and he runs like he's aware of it, steady on his hooves and sure, even on the narrow, rocky   
paths. And the waterfall, once they reach it, is more beautiful real than it was imagined.

Kev has brought lunch and they eat in the shadow and thunder of the fall, just out of range  
of the spray. When he touches her cheek, she doesn't think of Mal in the slightest, and  
because she doesn't she shifts so that Kev can kiss her. It's strange, his beard scrapes and  
tickles, but pleasant, and it's River who initiates the next kiss, and the third.

The afternoon swoops swift-winged past. They spend it exploring the surroundings,  
scrambling up crags and down ravines. She enjoys Kev's company, he doesn't know  
what she doesn't chose to reveal, what she is and what she's capable of, and it frees her  
in certain ways, though it traps and binds her in others.

Clouds have gathered by the time they head back, merging to cover the whole of the sky,  
and it begins to rain, a light scatter that grows into a drizzle as they draw nearer the ranch.

Kev, water dripping from the tip of his nose and his beard, mutters something about this  
not being how he'd planned it, and River, taking pity on him, says, "It's as memorable  
as a sunset." She wipes at her face with the sleeve of her sweater, but it proves an  
ineffectual, futile action. "Possibly more."

He chuckles. "Good point."

They let the horses fly the last stretch home, and River leans forward, braving the rain,  
to whisper and urge _Kuáng Fēng_ to soar. She's first into the yard in front of the main  
building, pulling the horse to a halt. A familiar figure is standing on the roofed porch,  
and it startles her to note it, but before she has dismounted, Mal disappears into the  
house. She stares at the empty space he occupied and frowns.

"I'll take the horses," Kev says, joining her. "You go in and get dry."

River agrees to it, more because of Mal, though, than because the downpour bothers  
her. She pats _Kuáng Fēng_'s neck and hands over the reins, then hurries across the  
yard. Her boots are sodden, so she removes them at the entrance and pads through  
the hallway, patterning the floor with droplets as she goes. She finds Mal alone by  
a window in the common room, logs crackling in the fireplace.

"It's getting dark, and the weather ain't fit to be out and about in," he says, when she  
approaches. "Where were you?"

"With Kev," River responds, her voice guarded. She sidles close to the warmth of the  
fire, offering him no further explanation.

Mal snorts, with a definite hint of derision. "That much I had figured, even before Doc  
told me."

"You're not my father," she says, his behaviour prickling her into defence. "Or Simon."

He turns around, then, and the bad temper he's displayed while speaking is also drawn  
in his features. River suspects she looks a mess, a drenched cat, perhaps. The carpet  
beneath her is dampening, her hair is plastered to her skin and her clothes are sticky—but  
she hasn't registered, on a conscious level, that they _cling_, until she realises that he does,  
his gaze skirting the edges of her, not quite coming to rest. She shivers, and it has nothing  
to do with the fact that she's soaked through.

"No." His tone is low, and a muscle ticks at his temple. "But I'm your captain."

"Doesn't give you the right to interfere with what's private," River counters.   
"What's _mine_."

"Yours?" He crosses his arms. "He's that already, is he?"

"Kev," she emphasises, reminding him. "A boy my age. Undamaged. What you were so  
convinced I needed." He retreats, at that, but she pushes on. "Or is it that you're taking  
back your words?"

Mal pales, his lips setting in a thin line, and River squares her shoulders, unflinching, as if  
they were combatants, him and her, and this a duel. And she _wills_ him to cease fighting.  
To let go.

"River?"

Kev's call makes her start, and Mal closes up, instantly, averting his eyes. "You've got  
the truth of it, little one." He passes his fingers over his hair, his mouth easing into a curve  
of contrition. "It ain't for me to say what you can do or not."

He hasn't answered her question, and he won't. Same as she won't beg him for scraps  
and morsels. Kev's steps rebound, then stop, and she moves to meet him in the doorway.  
"I'm here."

"You should go change," Kev says, concerned, "or you'll catch a cold."

"Meant to," she replies. "I was side-tracked."

Kev casts a glance at Mal, behind her. "Well, are you done?"

She can't see Mal's expression, and she doesn't want to. "Yes."


	16. Three of Hearts

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Things get a bit more complicated.  
**Author's note**: Reviews are, as always, very much appreciated!

**  
Three of Hearts **  
**by Hereswith**

It's a bright, fine day, and the garden is brimming with noises and honeyed scents. River is  
sitting on a blanket in the grass, with Kev lying outstretched beside her. They have been   
playing at cards and after she won three in a row, Kev folded, proposing a break.

A small butterfly flits by her and alights on a drooping blossom. It's brilliant blue, the edges  
of its wings fading into black, and on impulse River reaches to capture it, cupping it in her  
hands. She's about to steal peek at it when Mal emerges, alone, from the main building and  
the resulting flutter in her stomach mimics that of the insect in her grasp.

"What d'you have there?"

River glances down at Kev, then back up, but Mal has headed off to meet Jayne in the yard,  
and if he noticed her, she missed it. "Butterfly," she answers. "In one of the ancient languages,  
on Earth-That-Was, the word for butterfly was the same as that for soul."

Kev pushes himself up on his elbow. "Really?"

She slowly removes her right hand, uncovering the insect, which has stilled in the centre of   
her palm, biding its time. "It's beautiful."

"Yes," says Kev, watching her, not the butterfly. "Beautiful."

It's flattering, it's balm on her wounds, but it unnerves her, too. Kaylee has been delighted,  
teasing her about it, and Simon's given her a big brotherly talk, not exactly disapproving, but  
advising her to be careful. And she's tried to be, though not so much for herself as for Kev.  
She hasn't lied to him, but neither has she explained how she feels about the captain, and it   
gnaws on her that she should. She can't let him believe things might be, when they won't.

The butterfly flaps its wings and takes flight.

_xx_

She dreams of Mal, and of the war. The mud, the mire and the harrowing, and his face in the   
glow of the bombs and grenades, as grim as it had been that day on Haven. She dreams and  
wakes up coughing, like the air was acrid with smoke.

It might have been her imagination, stirred by Borden's tales from earlier that evening, but  
she isn't certain, and the lingering tang of it isn't her own. She rarely taps into someone else's  
dreaming by accident anymore, which means that this was loud, like a scream. And if it had  
been a horror for her, it must have been far worse for him. River rolls from one side to the  
other, indecisive, then throws off the cover and gets up.

The corridor is shadowed, and she walks past the stairs and goes left, to the room she  
knows is Mal's. He isn't sleeping, dim light outlines the door, and she intends to knock,  
but reconsiders before she follows through and flattens her hand instead, leaning both it  
and her forehead against the wood, mouthing his name.

Muffled sounds inform her that he's pacing, one, two, three and four and then turn, not fast,  
but steadily back and forth. He's troubled, a-swirl with the dark, and she wishes—but she's  
wished it before, and wishing doesn't make it true.

_He might come around_, Zoe had said. Not _will_, and not _is going to_. It's hypothetical,  
not assured. And he hasn't, not yet, or come to terms with it. Reluctantly, River straightens,  
taking a step backward.

Her weight causes the floorboard beneath her to creak.

All movement inside the room stops at once, and with it, her heart. Her gaze is drawn  
and riveted to the handle, and when it's pressed down, she nearly bolts, but the door is  
pushed ajar and it's too late to escape.

His feet are bare; he wears loose grey trousers and a washed out T-shirt that appears put  
on in haste. His hair is on end. He doesn't seem surprised, but some emotion percolates  
that he won't let free, and she doesn't think it is anger.

"I was dreaming," she blurts, out of breath like she's been running and not simply standing  
in place, then amends, "_You_ were dreaming."

His expression changes. "I was," he admits. "Sensed it, did you?" At her nod, he adds,  
grimacing, "Sorry 'bout that. You shouldn't've had to."

"Doesn't matter," she replies. "Are you—"

"I'm all right," Mal confirms. "Near as can be, anyhow." He shifts his position, which  
reveals a tear in the fabric of his T-shirt, and the glimpse of paler skin calls out to her like  
a siren's lure, her fingers itching to touch. "You needn't be worrying."

She could snap at him, pretend that she wasn't, but it's deep night, his voice whispers  
over her, and in that instant, it's almost like it used to be between them. "Might not be  
necessary, but it isn't possible, or conceivable, not to," she says, wrenching her attention  
away from temptation. "It's what friends do, isn't it?"

"Yes," he says, with a chuckle. "I reckon so." He pauses, and there's a sudden tightening  
around his lips. "This here thing with Kev. It's a real fondness you have for him, then?"

River stiffens, remembering what she had forgotten. _Wrong_. She had been wrong, of  
course. Nothing would ever be like it was, again. "If I'm happy," she hedges, "you should  
be happy for me."

It strikes him silent. "I should," he agrees, at last. "I am. Ain't none deserves it more, with  
what you've been through." He rests a hand on the doorpost, clearing his throat. "We'll  
be leaving by tomorrow afternoon."

She lifts her eyes to his. "I know."

"And you're—fine with that? Wouldn't want to be a pilot short at takeoff."

He isn't stupid, and he reads her as well as Simon does, for the most part, and sometimes  
better. But this, now, right in front of him, he refuses to see, refuses to hear, and she can't  
find the cracks to slip through. "You won't be."

A tension falls from him, but he doesn't make a show of it, rather the opposite. "Well,"  
he says. "I shouldn't keep you. You ought to be in bed."

She doesn't mind the keeping, she would much prefer to stay. But pride holds her back  
and she doesn't tell him that, merely says a choked goodnight and dashes to her room.  
She doesn't slumber until the pre-dawn hours.

_xx_

At breakfast, their final morning on the ranch, River is tired and brooding. She still hasn't  
spoken to Kev and she has very little time remaining to do so, the minutes and seconds  
of it are ticking down.

"Mal," Borden announces. "You'll be going to Persephone, right?"

"That's the plan," Mal replies, lowering his spoon. "Might be there's a job for us there."

Borden nods. "My wife, bless her," he continues, "had kinfolk back on Persephone, and  
the grandparents have been nagging Kev to visit for months, but it's been delayed because  
of the foaling. However—Kev suggested he could take the opportunity to go with you,  
and that's good by me."

Mal blinks. "He could what?"

"Go with you," Borden blithely repeats. "He could help out aboard. You'd drop him off  
and no bother."

River looks straight over at Kev, who smiles. "Besides," he says to her, "it'd give us a few  
extra days together."

"I—" She trails off, at a loss as how to react or respond, her thoughts in a scatter.

"It's a wonderful idea, ain't it, Capt'n?" Kaylee remarks.

Mal opens his mouth and closes it, then opens it once more. "Shiny."


	17. Spun About

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Some truths are revealed.  
**Author's note**: Feedback is, as always, appreciated.

**  
Spun About **  
**by Hereswith**

"To me!" Kev shouts. Kaylee throws him the ball and he catches it, tossing it in a neat arc through  
the makeshift hoop, and Jayne growls in protest. 

River watches the game, cross-legged on the floor of the cargo bay. She's not in the mood to take  
part, and besides, they make two teams without her, counting Kev and Simon, coaxed by Kaylee  
to participate. The rules are disturbingly fluid and malleable, but from what she can gather, Mal's  
team, with Zoe and Jayne, has been in the lead so far, but Kev's recent feat made them even.

Kev takes the ball again, and he narrowly avoids Jayne's clutches, merely to come up against Mal.  
They tackle each other, hard, and Kev slips, going down, but he drags Mal with him. In the struggle,  
the ball rolls away from them, towards Simon. Her brother seizes it, jumping up as high as he can,  
and succeeds in scoring.

"No dishes for a week!" Kaylee exclaims, and runs into the somewhat dazed Simon's arms with  
a joyful, "My hero!"

Kev gets to his feet, grinning, while Mal, to River's concern, rises with a noticeable wince, but he  
stretches and that seems to ease the pain.

"Peace?" says Kev, offering his hand, and Mal stares at it, unmoving.

River holds her breath, shifting to kneel, but then Kaylee intervenes. "Don't be such a grouch,  
Capt'n," she chides. "It was a fair win. Can't claim it wasn't."

Mal relents, briefly shaking Kev's hand. "No. I can't."

"Dumb luck, that's what," Jayne mutters with a sulk.

Kev abandons the group, walking over to drop down beside River. "We won," he declares, his  
eyes glittering. "Any chance of a reward? A kiss, perhaps?"

"Not when—" She swallows the name. A day has passed since they departed from the ranch,  
and Kev has settled in on the ship, but he's none the wiser, and it's due to nothing but her fault  
and omission. "Not when Simon's here."

"No?" Kev makes a disappointed pout, but humour sparkles in his voice. "A smile, then?"

And that much, at least, she can give him.

_xx_

Later in the evening, when dinner is done with, Kev hunts up music that he puts on quite loud and  
Jayne, quick to get into the spirit of things, goes to fetch a few bottles of some alcoholic concoction.  
River takes a sip of the golden amber liquid, and coughs as it bites down her throat. It earns her  
a sharp look from Simon, but she counters it with a scowl and a glare. 

"Let's see if I remember how, shall we?" says Kev.

He pulls her up to dance, and there isn't that much room, but they make do, spinning and dipping,  
and Kev matches her pace, even when the footwork grows complicated. Kaylee and Simon  
join them, as the tune changes and slows, and River steals a glance at Mal, who downs the  
remaining contents in his glass and refills it. He gazes up, suddenly, straight at her, and River's  
mouth goes dry, but Kev swirls her around and she ends up with her back to the table.

She's keenly aware that Mal is regarding them, and she's torn between the urge to disentangle,  
to push away Kev's hand, resting at her waist, and the conflicting urge to press closer to Kev,  
defying Mal's palpable disapproval. Action and reaction. Cause and effect. And he's the one   
who's refused her.

She doesn't have to choose, however. The music fades out and Kev draws back, letting her go,  
and they head toward the table, to take a pause.

"River," Mal snaps, before she can sit down. "I need you to check the status on the bridge."

"The alarm hasn't sounded," she points out. "There's no urgent reason to. Why should—"

"Because I said so."

He fiddles with his glass, his face implacable and River's initial confusion flares into irritation.  
She turns to Kev. "You'll come with me?"

"To the bridge? Sure."

She tugs him along, sparing not another word for the captain, and she can hear Mal setting his   
glass down with some force, but he doesn't protest and she hasn't expected him to. He can't  
forbid her from keeping company with Kev. Not without making a scene.

"Is he usually this tetchy?" Kev asks, as they enter the bridge. "Don't think I've noted it before."

"Sometimes," she replies, scanning the instruments at the pilot's seat. All is as it should be. Under  
control. And the horizon of space is clear. "Not usually."

"Well," says Kev. "It gave us a moment's privacy." His lips curve upwards. "Simon's not  
here now."

It's playful teasing, but her stomach plummets, weighted with guilt. She picks up the Tyrannosaurus  
Rex, wrapping her fingers around its small, solid form. There isn't a right time to tell him, and there  
won't ever be. "I can't."

Kev's eyes widen slightly. "Why not?" He studies her, frowning, and adds, "What's wrong?"

She would rather have fought a dozen Reavers. Curled up in a corner and hid or vanished into  
thinnest air, atoms dispersing. "It isn't you," she manages. "Nothing you did. It's me. Made  
a mess of it and trapped you in the middle."

He's blank and still, then comprehension dawns. "When you said you weren't together with  
anyone, it wasn't entirely true, was it?" he questions, his tone clipped. "You and Mal—"

"There's no me and Mal."

He lifts a brow. "But you want there to be?"

She hesitates. "Yes." Kev flinches, like he hoped she would deny it, and a swell of emotion  
washes over her, anger mixed with hurting, and she grits her teeth against the edge of it. "I'm  
sorry. Never meant for it to be twisted so wrong."

He doesn't respond, at first, his jaw working in silence, then he sighs. "I believe you. But that  
doesn't really make a difference, does it?" He gives a little shrug. "Does he know?" She nods,  
miserably, and Kev snorts. "Then he's a _yú chun_ fool. He doesn't deserve you."

River hugs her left arm to her side, the dinosaur still in her grasp, not certain how to answer that,  
or if she should.

"What about the others?"

"Zoe guessed," she replies. "Not the rest." He shakes his head, muttering under his breath.  
"Kev—"

"Don't. Just—don't." He straightens his shoulders. "I'm going back," he states. "They'll wonder  
if you're not with me, and I don't imagine either of us would like to explain."

He doesn't bother to wait for her, and River places the Tyrannosaurus Rex back on the console,  
then hurries to follow him. When they reach the galley, the captain is nowhere in sight, and she  
can't help being relieved.

She stays, dancing with her brother and then with Kev, once more, and though he maintains the  
pretence otherwise, he doesn't meet her gaze. The headache sneaks up on her through backdoors,  
it isn't feigned, she can blame it and leave, at last, but she doubts she'll be able to sleep.

It's only partly lit, downstairs, and River is too preoccupied to pay attention to her surroundings,  
so she doesn't realise that she isn't alone until someone speaks.

"Where's Kev? Thought the two of you were attached at the hip."

River freezes, right on the spot, and looks to find that Mal is seated in one of the chairs outside  
the infirmary. She could ignore him, slink off and lock herself away. But she's worn out of patience  
and riled by the snide remark.

She braces to confront him.


	18. Flare of a Sun

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: A confrontation takes place.  
**Author's note**: As usual, if you read this it'd be nice to hear what you think about it.

**  
Flare of a Sun**  
**by Hereswith**

With definite purpose, she strides over and halts in front of him, taking him in. He's lounging in the  
chair, blur-edged with liquor, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up.

"You've been drinking," she states.

"There's a piece of truth," he replies. "But not so much it warrants that look."

"Too much," River argues, not changing her glare in the least. "Clouds your brain and perception."

"Which would be the point," he says, with a dry chuckle.

"It's stupid." She pauses. "I don't like you like this."

He stiffens, a shadow fleeting over his features. "Like how? I was merely asking about Kev."

"No," she says, "you weren't. You've acted like a boob the whole evening."

"That's what you think, is it?" Mal leans forward in apparent discomfort, elbows on thighs. "The  
boy had his hands all over you."

"We were dancing," she reminds him. "You're supposed to hold your partner when dancing. It  
wasn't improper, except in your own head." He seems about to protest, so she adds, intercepting  
him, "What Kev and I do—" Have done, she amends to herself, with a painful sting. Have done  
and won't do anymore, but he doesn't know that, and she doesn't intend to enlighten him. "Told  
you that you had no right to interfere, and you don't. Not then. Not now. Not ever."

She punctuates each sentence for emphasis and at the end of it, when she's finished, his fists are  
knotted, but he doesn't speak and she huffs in disgust, turning to go. He's lightning quick to his  
feet, however, gripping her arm so hard it hurts, and it takes her by complete surprise, because  
he hasn't once hindered her or himself from walking away before, though he's had the opportunity.

"Have you kissed him?"

"Yes," she retorts. "I've kissed him. He's kissed me." She wrenches loose and twists around.  
"Shouldn't matter to you. You didn't want me!"

"Gorram it," he snaps. "Never said I didn't want you."

"You said—" It hits her, belatedly, it sinks in and she falters, staring at him. His expression is  
strained and it's obvious he's regretting it, that he would have it unuttered, if he could. But it's  
been voiced and it echoes in her, even though the actual sound of it has faded. "Do you?" He   
starts to back from her and she follows in immediate pursuit, forcing him to a wall. "Do you _  
want_ me?"

"River," he says, almost pleading, but he doesn't continue.

"No!" She shakes her head violently. "You can't _do_ this. Can't have it more than one way. You  
have to decide."

"I did."

"It carries no weight when you won't accept Kev," she persists, determined to drag it out of him  
if she has to, with a hook, a line and a firm pull. "Why?"

Mal averts his gaze, but doesn't attempt another escape, and that is something. Finally, he mutters,  
"He ain't fit for you."

And that is more.

"Then who is?" she questions. He struggles against it, still, but she can feel him teetering on the  
brink, his defences undermined tonight, and weakened to crumble. "If you fall, I will catch you."

He glances up, his laugh harsh and startled. "It's a mighty high drop, darlin'."

She nods and says, quieter, but no less earnest, "I'm strong enough."

He regards her, silent and searching, and though she counts the seconds, tense with anxious  
hope, she curbs the urge to hurry him. Tilting his head back, he heaves a long, slow sigh, then  
straightens again. "And Kev?"

She takes his hand, not daring to be certain he won't bolt until she's put it above her heart,   
pressing hers on top, and he hasn't. Her breath hitches at the contact and his muscles flex taut,  
betraying that he's as conscious as she is of what would happen if he slid his palm but a few  
inches lower.

"Tried to convince you," she says, "but you wouldn't see it like it was." She tightens her   
fingers on his. "The beat is irregular, out of rhythm. It isn't because of him. It's your fault,  
Malcolm Reynolds."

Raw emotion flashes in his eyes, a solar flare compared to the flicker she had glimpsed, that  
day in Inara's shuttle, and it stirs up embers within, a shower of sparks that makes her toes  
curl in a burst of delight. "I'm going to kiss you," she informs him. "Will you let me?"

"Could I stop you?" he answers wryly, and it isn't surrender, but it's a yielding of ground.

She grins. "No."

She releases him and though his hand lingers, he withdraws it as she moves closer, his lashes  
sweeping down to form fanned crescents against his skin, his lips parting, waiting. And River  
hesitates, suddenly all nerves, because he's here, he's with her, and she's wished for this for  
what might have been ages. Since dinosaurs ruled. She pinches her leg through her skirt,  
and winces.

He clears his throat. "Are you—"

"Hush," she says, and stretches up.

It's a delicate thing, the slightest brush, but a shudder goes through him. His response, when  
he offers it, is as gentle, leading into a tentative exploration. The experience isn't unfamiliar,  
but it's Mal, so there's a difference to it, a variation in the details, and she steadies herself  
against his chest, dizzied by his nearness. He's soft and warm and irresistible, his mind an  
intricate pattern of darkness and light, the cragged and the smooth, the bitter and the sweet,  
and the taste of him is mostly that of alcohol, a sharp, smoky flavour, with the hint of something  
she imagines is purely his.

She retreats, at last, but only a little distance, and looks at him as he looks at her—a suspended  
pause of adjusting to the new, the reordering of the known. And she remembers, like time's  
folded in on itself, that distant place, that moment when the blast doors came unshut and she  
spotted him, battered and bloodied but alive. When they had faced each other across the  
floor of the wounded and slaughtered, and the stillness in him had shone through to her like  
a beacon.

_Mal_, she thinks and, "Mal," she whispers, so he can hear it.

"_Bao bei_," he replies, as low, and cups her cheek. She turns her head to kiss the inside of his  
wrist and he stifles a groan, prompting her to repeat the action. But then he threads his fingers  
into her hair, bending to slant his open mouth over hers and it's deep and drugging, a teasing  
play of tongues that soon grows insistent. And the sensation is intense, it has her gasping,  
heavy-limbed with need. He skims his left hand down her back and raises the other, splaying  
both across her hips, and she slips her arms around his neck.

"River?"

It's an outside voice, disbelieving, a man's voice, but not the captain's. She and Mal break  
apart in such abrupt and awkward haste that she stumbles, the loss of his touch a jarring chill.  
It's an effort to shake off the remaining traces of the daze that's dulled her awareness, but  
she manages, and blushes.

Mal steps to the side and says, his tone carefully controlled, "Doc."


	19. Chain Reaction

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Simon is confused.  
**Author's note**: I should probably mention that this is angsty, but I would also like to emphasise  
that it is not the end... There will be four more parts, I think, or possibly five, before this is finished.

**  
Chain Reaction**  
**by Hereswith**

There's a moment of utter quiet between the three of them, when no one speaks or moves, like the  
world's been put on pause, but she can't rewind or erase. Her cheeks have ceased to burn with the  
embarrassment of being caught out, but her pulse is a thunder in her ears.

"The headache eased up on its own, I assume," Simon says to her, confusion vivid in his features.  
"I don't understand. I thought you and Kev—what are you doing with _him_?"

The last rings out with sharp force and River frowns, but Mal responds before she can. "I take it you're   
having a problem with that, Doctor?"

Simon shoots a glare at Mal. "She's my sister. And you're the captain of this ship, _her_ captain, in case  
you have forgotten."

Mal visibly squares his shoulders. "Ain't likely to forget that."

"No?" Simon replies, with a hint of challenge. "Because from where I was standing, it certainly looked  
like you had."

It's becoming a staring contest, a back and forth jibing, and it has River's teeth set. Mal and her brother   
aren't close friends, and might never be, but it's been a long while since they were this prickly tense  
towards each other. And it reminds her, uncomfortably, of the first robbery she was involved in, when  
the Reavers had arrived to wreak death and Simon had struck Mal down, in the aftermath, on account  
of her. Out of concern for her.

"I'm with _him_ because I want to be," she interjects, to draw Simon's attention. When she has it, she adds,  
"And I wanted him to kiss me."

His eyes widen at the statement. "What about Kev?"

"He knows," she admits. "I told him."

Mal gazes at her with questioning surprise and she affirms it with a nod. His brow furrows. "When?"

"Before," she replies, with a small grimace. "On the bridge."

Mal curses, a convoluted phrase of self-reproach, and Simon, brittle-voiced, asks, "You told him what?"

River bites her lip. "That I'm not in love with him."

It isn't straightforward, but the implications are clear and for a brief instant Simon gapes like a fish,  
then snaps his mouth shut. "You can't mean that you—" He gestures at Mal, without finishing the  
sentence. "That's—" Trailing off once more, he gives it up for an incredulous, "Why?"

She doesn't deliberate; there's only one explanation that covers the whole spectrum of facts.  
"Because he's Mal."

Mal makes an inarticulate, strangled noise.

"_Ai ya_," Simon breathes, shaking his head. "_Mei mei_, this is madness." He addresses Mal and his  
tone changes to biting. "I had my doubts when she started spending so much time around you, piloting  
and on the jobs. But she seemed fine with it, and she trusted you. It didn't occur to me to worry you  
would take advantage of that."

"Simon!" River protests, but he pays her no heed.

"She's far too young, scarcely more than a child, and you—what could you possibly offer her?"

"_Dé le_!" She practically shouts it, spits it out. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" Simon says.

He's regarding Mal and what he sees, she sees as well, and she wishes it _had_ come to blows, that  
Simon had hit the captain and been done, for this is worse. It's everything that made Mal balk and  
refuse to begin with, thrown in his face, and he's so pale it wrenches her. She doesn't have to guess  
to figure out what haunts him: the roar of the flames and the punishment he's certain he deserves.

"You can't listen to him," she urges. "Mal?"

He doesn't answer, he's raised the walls and locked her out, and what passes between him and  
Simon she can't stop or fight against, it hovers beyond her reach. At last, he says, with a wearied  
resolve that stabs her right through, "You heard him, little one. It's as he said."

"Don't," she counters. "Don't even dare. Not now." She remains calm with effort, directing the rest  
to both of them. "I'm not too young. No child you can pat on the head and tell what to do. You  
can't decide what's best for me."

But they have, they already have, it's in their silence, it's _agreed_, and she's so angry with them she's  
out of words.

"Simon?" Kaylee is approaching, her expression anxious. "What's goin' on?"

It breaks them up, like something snapped. Simon takes a step towards Kaylee, while Mal seizes  
the opportunity to leave, and River is about to follow when Simon calls out her name.

"Not talking to you!" she flings at him, and runs.

She hurries up alongside the captain and falls into a brisk walk, trying to keep up with his longer  
strides.

He gives her a wary glance. "You shouldn't be here."

River finds her breath, but can't dispel the panicked feeling. "Yes, I should," she states. She doesn't  
touch him, though she longs to. "Did you care less for that dog, Ol' Buck-Tooth, because he was  
scarred? Do you—care less for me, because I was in bits and pieces?"

He's taken aback, slows and then halts, and so does she. "That ain't got nothin' to do with it, River."

"Some of it has," she replies. "If you didn't, if you don't, why can't you believe that yours don't matter  
to me? I'm damaged, too. Wounds on the inside. Stitches and seams. We match."

His mouth twists with barely bridled pain and he lifts his hand, letting his fingers ghost over her hair.   
"Darling girl."

And it sounds like goodbye.

He turns from her to continue on his way and she blurts, "You kissed me back. Can't cross that line  
and then have it uncrossed."

Mal grows still. "No," he acknowledges. "But it won't be happening again."

"You—" She swallows hard. "Said it true, when Simon asked. All of it."

He'll argue against it, she's sure he will and she can't bear that, as soon as it escapes her she's taken  
flight, boots thudding against metal. She avoids the others, seeking the hidden place, where _Serenity_  
is a strong presence around her, humming a droning lull, and she curls up where she sits, dry-eyed,  
with her face buried against her knees.

Had the problem been Simon alone, it would have been different, but the greatest obstacle is in  
Mal's mind, and it isn't something that can be removed, or made to vanish, unless it's by his choice.   
She can't think what to do. Can't imagine how to go about it. And she's terribly afraid she won't  
ever have what she's been hoping for: his unreserved and wholehearted 'yes'.


	20. Making Repairs

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Some things are repaired.  
**Author's note**: As usual, if you read this, I'd really appreciate hearing what you think. I know  
there are quite a few of you who have this on story alert and I'm hoping it's because you are  
enjoying it...

**  
Making Repairs**  
**by Hereswith**

She's aboard a ship of the Firefly class, the boundaries are fixed and finite; outside is the black, where  
nothing can live. There's no fleeing the field, stealing one of the shuttles would gain her nothing, and she  
can't remain out of sight forever.

Walking helps to loosen the kinks in her muscles, and she's in luck, she doesn't encounter any of the crew.  
Even the galley is emptied of people, though bottles and glasses clutter the table. She barely ate at dinner  
and it's late enough that she's famished, so she stacks some food on a plate, to take to her room, and she's  
quick about it, but when she abandons the kitchen area, plate balanced and destination determined, she  
spots Kaylee entering.

"There you are," Kaylee says, with obvious relief, and as River makes a slight backward motion, she  
adds, "Don't leave. Are you okay?"

It's too gentle, too kind and too much. To River's dismay, she feels a sudden wetness on her cheeks and  
she averts her face, but not before Kaylee notes it.

"Oh, sweetie," Kaylee exclaims and rushes over. "Ain't none of 'em got his head on straight, if they can't  
see you're hurtin'."

River gulps for breath, putting the plate down on the tabletop and wiping at the tears with the side of her  
hand. She resists, when Kaylee pulls her into an embrace, then gives in to it, that shushing comfort, and  
part of her is glad it's all out, set free and not secret anymore.

She skips breakfast, the following morning, lingering in her bed. Simon's knock and question startles her  
and she wavers, torn, but doesn't open the door. She's aware that she'll have to confront him eventually,  
but the previous night's events are scrapes and bruises she won't prod on purpose. Not yet. She counts  
prime numbers, as a distraction, and in the end he goes away.

The rest of the day is cast in greyish gloom, a lack of brightness that affects everyone's mood, and it can't  
easily be fixed, even though Kaylee, being Kaylee, makes the attempt.

River keeps apart from the others, Simon included, as much as she can, either in her room or on the bridge,  
where she and the dinosaurs are on lonely watch, and if she squints, she can imagine that they gaze at her  
with sympathy. Mal doesn't show. Not that she wants him to. Resentment churns in her, combined with  
her guilt over Kev, and she's wretched with it.

Later on, when she's going back down below, she catches Jayne's voice drifting through a passage and  
pauses.

"So," he says, sorting it out, "Mal ain't speaking to anyone, the doc ain't speaking to Mal, and River ain't  
speaking to the doc. Or Mal."

"That about sums it up," Zoe replies. "And there's Kev. He hasn't been talking much, either."

Jayne mutters. "Don't know what they're getting so all-fire worked up about. Ain't saying she ain't  
pretty, but—"

It sounds like they are approaching, and River doesn't stay to hear him elaborate.

There's another night of not sleeping, and then another morning. River has washed, put her clothes on  
and stands, hairbrush in hand, when Simon appears on the threshold. She hasn't locked the door to her  
room, this time, or shut it closed, and he takes that as the sign it is, stepping inside.

"Are you still upset with me?" he questions, his tone cautious. "It isn't like you—not for this long."

She runs the brush through her hair, and when it hits a tangle, she forces it past. "Had good reason."

He presses his lips together. "You can't have expected me to be happy about it?"

"No," she admits. "But you could have _listened_." A second, more vigorous, stroke, and a bristle of  
static. "You stomped in and trampled me down, like my opinion wasn't important."

"I didn't—" Simon stops short, paces, and then goes to sit on the edge of her bed. "I'm listening now."

She cocks her head, regarding him. "Are you? Really?"

He rubs at the bridge of his nose. "_Mei mei_, I'm trying."

River lowers the brush and sets it aside, relenting. "What you said to him, he's said to himself. To  
me, over and over. Mustn't. Can't. _Wrong_. He wouldn't take advantage. You shouldn't have  
assumed that he did."

The corner of Simon's mouth crooks up ruefully. "Kaylee called me a fool. Though her phrasing was  
more—colourful," he says. "What was I supposed to think, when I saw him touching you like that?"

She gives him a look, the old, practised one. "Should have trusted that I knew what I was doing,  
even if you didn't trust him."

"Well," he mumbles, a hint of red in his face, and he resorts to picking up a thread from his earlier   
argument. "Kev's close to you in age, at least, and it seemed—it was flirting, a glimpse of what you  
might have had, if not for the Academy. Mal has his moments," he continues, "but he isn't what  
I would have wished for you."

Anger doesn't rise again. His view of it, of Mal, isn't hers, but she understands, and she takes a seat  
next to him on the bed. "Sometimes," she says, "what you find isn't what you seek, but it makes  
sense. Like Kaylee."

It draws a grudging chuckle out of him. "Yes," he replies and glances at her. "I remember when I first  
laid eyes on this ship, booked our passage and met the crew. Had someone told me, then, what would  
come of that decision, I wouldn't have believed it." He frowns. "And I can't believe I didn't notice  
what's been going on."

She flickers a smile. "Couldn't envision it, so it didn't exist. It didn't fit into your frame of reference.  
And Kaylee kept you busy." His frown deepens, but she shakes her head, intercepting his expression  
of remorse. "You've always taken care of me. You shouldn't have to. I can fly on my own." And she  
adds, firmly, "Doesn't mean I don't love you the same. I do."

He sighs, from the depths of his lungs, and reaches for her hand. "River," he says, and, "_mei mei_."  
She leans against his shoulder, his shirt soft against her cheek, and they are quiet like that, for a while,  
then he asks, "Are you certain?"

She straightens a little and nods. "I didn't plan for it. It wasn't and then it was. He's—"

"Mal," Simon fills in, grimacing. "Yes, you mentioned that." She pokes an elbow in his ribs, and he  
protests. "It will take some getting used to. A _lot_ of getting used to," he amends.

She stiffens, Mal's final statement replaying in her mind. "You won't have to."

He hesitates. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," she says, a pointed reminder.

He responds by wrapping his other hand around hers, as well, and so much is unresolved, but there's  
a tight coil of tension inside her that unravels, because it's righted between the two of them, and that's  
a start.


	21. Parting of Ways

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: A farewell takes place.  
**Author's note**: Apologies for the long wait. Real life and a major writer's block as far as  
this story was concerned intervened, but hopefully the next part will be up sooner.

**  
Parting of Ways **  
**by Hereswith**

They enter Persephone's atmosphere before noon and River is on the bridge, manning the controls.  
The descent is uneventful, routine, and she doesn't have to concentrate much on the task, which  
leads her to thinking about Mal. The image of him is so strong in her mind, even though she strives  
to banish it, that when he appears, she first assumes that she has conjured him up. But Zoe is there,  
as well, and that doesn't fit.

It's the most she's seen of him since that evening, and while he doesn't ignore her, he's restrained,  
and he maintains a distance when waving Talbot, the man who has offered them a job, speaking to  
him briefly to arrange a meeting. But awareness fills the space he's created between them and it's  
causing her skin to prickle. She takes them down, landing with steady precision, and as soon as   
_Serenity_ is grounded, Mal quits the room.

Zoe lingers, however, and addresses River. "I'm guessing you've had as little sleep as he has?"

"Snatches," River admits. "But I'm fine."

Zoe snorts. "That's what he said."

River's heart lurches. "Has he—talked about it?"

"He ain't exactly been willing to. Least not yet," Zoe replies, regarding River with keen scrutiny.  
"He'll push you both to breaking with this, and that ain't gonna do you, or the rest of us, any good."  
She shakes her head, muttering something less than complimentary about men. "I'll do what I can."

River nods, grateful, and when Zoe departs, she slumps back in the pilot's seat, all air rushing out  
of her. It isn't that she's expected him to reconsider, but it's hard to let go of hope, she can't keep  
from clinging to shreds of it. She rubs her eyes with her palms, then rises to her feet. There are  
farewells to be made.

_xx_

Kev has to pass through the cargo bay to disembark, so that's where she waits for him, restless  
with nerves. Mal is conversing with Jayne, further off, and she indulges for a moment in staring at  
him, drinking him in, like she hadn't earlier on the bridge. At the sound of footfalls, she starts.

"Well," Kev observes, in a matter-of-fact tone. He carries a bag slung over his shoulder and his  
features are unrevealing. "You never looked at me like that."

River winces inwardly, but she's unable to deny it. "I'm sorry. For everything," she tells him,  
stumbling over the words in her haste, but he doesn't interrupt her, perhaps because he needs to   
hear it again as much as she needs it to be said. "You shouldn't have been in this situation.  
I shouldn't have put you there," she amends. "If I could have it undone, I would."

"I can't say the last few days have been fun," he replies, after a short silence, "and I'd prefer not to  
have them repeated, if I can avoid it. But I'll live. And the trip won't be wasted, at least, as I was  
meaning to visit anyway."

She hesitates. "I do like you. It wasn't pretence. Had things been different—perhaps."

"Perhaps," he says. "No use speculating, though, is there?" The glint in his eyes isn't anger, but  
neither is it amusement. Not quite. "You're missing out on something shiny here, you know."

"I know," she answers and it isn't an empty phrase. From what she's learned about him, she  
can recognise the truth of that.

He hefts his bag, his smile crooked. "Time for me to leave, princess." He makes a bow, neat  
but not too deep, and with that, walks from her and from the ship.

River watches him go, fists bunched at her sides, almost wishing she had the urge to run after him.  
He might have accepted the whole of her, the dark of her, but she'll never find that out. Love, she  
decides, is too complicated. There are too many variables and uncontrollable factors. She remains  
in place, even after Kev has disappeared from sight, even when Mal comes up behind her, his  
strides and his presence unmistakable.

"Are you—" he begins.

"No. I'm not," she interrupts him, then lashes out with deliberation, intending it to cut. "Didn't   
think you cared."

He exhales a sharp sigh. "I do," he says, tightly. "That ain't changed."

"Don't act like it," she bristles, twisting around. "Wouldn't have made the choice you made, if  
you did."

"It wasn't an easy choice," he replies.

In this light, he's drawn and angled, the lines in his face more pronounced, but she has no pity  
to spare. She glares at him, instead. "Shouldn't it have been? If it's what's right and for the best?  
Something you don't have to force." She gives it a second to settle, then adds, "You want this, too."

It isn't posed as a question and he doesn't take it as such. There's a spiralling swirl of emotion   
within him, like the memory of what they did is as vivid for him as it is for her, and River, gleaning  
it, shudders. "I dream about you," she continues, a low confession. "Waking fantasies." He's so  
close, and it seems to her as though they are breathing in rhythm, with shallow synchronicity.  
"About you touching me. The taste of you."

"Enough," he says, in protest, but his voice is like gravel, betraying him.

"Is it?" she counters. "Enough for you that it's like this between us? Can't talk without arguing.  
Can't be together, like before, when it didn't hurt." She blinks away the sting of tears."I hate it.  
And I _miss_ you."

He makes a minute gesture, like he might reach for her, but then his hands go to grip his gun belt.  
And she could have hit him; she itches to kick her boot into his shin, as much as she longs to have his  
arms around her. Far too complicated. Before he can answer, she says, "It's going to be your fault."

Mal frowns. "What is?"

"You were certain it was fleeting. That my feelings would fade," she reminds him. "But if they do,  
it will be because you made it happen. Because you did irreparable damage. And it might be too late  
to salvage, if you regret it."

He draws back a fraction and opens his mouth, then appears to catch himself, clenching his jaw.  
His stance is defensive, and it's obvious the statement fazes him, though he tries to prevent it from  
showing through.

"Sir?" Zoe approaches, casting an apologetic glance at River. "We should be on our way, or we  
won't make that meeting."

Mal turns to Zoe, and he must have read something in her expression, for he does a double take.  
"Gorram it," he exclaims. "Ain't there nobody on my side in this?"

"Doesn't seem like it, sir," Zoe states. "Though I don't figure Jayne's reasons are the same."

As if responding to the mention of his name, Jayne loudly calls out, "Hey! Are we goin' or what?"

Mal gives a scowling grimace. "Yes," he barks back. "We're going. Now."

He heads off with a swing of coat, a blatant escape, but River, as she and Zoe follow, Jayne bringing  
up the rear, is preoccupied and pondering, her gaze fixed on the captain.

He could have contradicted her, could have said that he wouldn't regret it, but he hadn't.


	22. Turn of the Cards

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: There's an unexpected turn of events.  
**Author's note**: Reviews are appreciated. If you're reading this story, I'd love to hear  
what you think.

**  
Turn of the Cards **  
**by Hereswith**

Talbot's the owner of a gambling hall, a place where dice are cast, cards are played and money  
goes from hand to hand. The air inside the building is thick and turgid, a simmering witch's brew  
of hope, spiked with elation and raging disappointment. It's volatile ground, and River spots proof  
of it in passing, as they make their way towards the back of the room, where Talbot is waiting.   
Off to the left, a balding man rises, pushing his chair back with such force that it almost tips over,  
and stomps from the scene with a "Gorram _hún dàn_!" thrown at the dealer.

Talbot greets them in a light and jovial manner. "Sit, sit," he urges, indicating the nearby corner  
table. "I've ordered drinks to be fetched."

River takes a seat, and Talbot's measure. He's stout, with curly hair the colour of sand and sharp,  
glittering eyes. Despite his build, he appears to her much like a ferret, quick and cunning, but she  
senses nothing from him that Mal has to be alerted to and gives the captain a subtle shake of her  
head to confirm it.

A serving girl brings the drinks, and River stretches to take her glass. The alcohol is strong, but not  
overwhelming, and there's a distinct flavour of liquorice. She sips from it, listening with half an ear  
as business is discussed. Talbot has a cargo he would have them deliver, but determining the price  
involves a certain amount of bargaining, which is dragging out, and she puts the glass down, struggling  
against a persistent yawn.

"You're Talbot, ain't you?"

The slurred voice sounds vaguely familiar and River glances to the side to discover that the balding  
man she noticed before is coming towards them, though he isn't alone anymore, he has two men  
in tow.

"One and the same," Talbot replies. "What can I do for you?"

"I want my money back," the man states, halting a few paces from the table, his companions close  
behind him.

Talbot smiles and spreads out his hands. "It's the rules of the game, my friend, you win some and you  
lose some."

"We ain't friends," the man returns. "And there ain't no fairness to the game when the house cheats."

Talbot stiffens. "I don't take kindly to such accusations, Mr—?"

"Parlan," the man says. He shrugs back his shoulders and in that moment, something unformed in him  
coalesces into a blazing purpose that River is able to perceive. She's up and on him, before he can  
fully draw his gun, using the element of surprise to her advantage and forces him, with a wristlock,  
to drop the weapon. It clatters onto the floor and under the table.

"_Sǐ sānbā_!" Parlan spits and shoves her aside. River stumbles, swerving to keep from bumping into  
a chair.

Mal is on his feet, his face dark, and Parlan warns him, "This ain't your business."

"When it's my crew you're manhandling—and insulting—it's my business," Mal replies, advancing.

Parlan's expression changes and he strikes out at Mal, who blocks the blow, and chaos ensues. The  
two other men explode into motion, plunging into the fight and Jayne launches himself at one of them,  
with some enthusiasm. River is nearest to the third, a wiry, bearded youth, but he won't engage her,  
at first, taunting her with a leering grin until she punches him hard. Then he swings at her, his fist closed,   
but she dodges it and hits him again, driving him backwards. Incensed, he makes another lunge at her,  
but she's tired and a second too slow, and he manages to seize hold of her, wrapping his arm tight  
across her neck and chest. And she freezes. Not because he has her trapped, though judging by his  
chuckle that's what he assumes. It's because of Mal.

The captain is turning from Parlan, as though he believes the balding man is out cold and no longer  
a threat. But Mal's wrong, so wrong, Parlan's scrambling up and whipping out a second, smaller gun,  
readied to fire.

River shouts a frantic warning and Mal, hearing it, twists around, just as the shot rings out, but he  
can't completely evade the bullet and reels at the impact. Heart in her throat, River slams her opponent  
in the stomach, then the groin and finally under the chin, causing him to cry out and release her, and  
she spins to finish it with a kick that sends him crashing down.

She would have gone for Parlan, but a guard, belatedly arrived, has beaten her to it, so she doesn't  
give a single thought to that, saving them all for Mal. He's prostrate on the floor and Zoe is already  
beside him, tearing open his shirt to examine the wound in his side. Rushing over, River falls to her   
knees next to him, gripped by the claws of a fear she hasn't felt since the time Simon's life was in  
danger, when the Reavers clamoured to get them.

He's conscious, but blanching, and asks Zoe, "How bad is it?"

"There ain't that much blood, sir," Zoe replies, with gritted directness. "But I can't rightly tell. We  
need to get you back to the ship as soon's I've patched you up."

He grumbles assent, and she sets to work, calm and efficient and with a skill no doubt honed in the  
war. Mal's right hand clenches and unclenches where it rests, and when River reaches out to take it  
in hers, for strength, for comfort, his gaze flickers to her, a clouded blue, but he doesn't pull away.

"Don't die," she says, a simple plea, cracked and desperate.

"Ain't plannin' to, little one," he answers, and it's to reassure her, but his pain is palpable, it rolls  
off him, tingeing the words and depriving them of conviction, and she can scarcely breathe around  
the panic, her stomach sinking, a numbing chill inside her. _Simon_. Simon will fix it, with surgery and  
medicine, the tricks of his trade. He has to.

Zoe straightens, wiping at her brow with her sleeve. "It's the best I can do for now. Jayne? Will  
you help me move him?"

"Yeah," the mercenary says, in a gruff tone, stepping forward.

River lets go of Mal, with the greatest reluctance, and stands on trembling legs to give Jayne room.   
Once Mal has staggered upright, leaning his weight on Jayne, Zoe shifts her attention to Talbot, who  
is watching them, grimly serious. "Your security's lacking, Mr. Talbot."

"Evidently so," he agrees, with displeasure. "It will be seen to. You have someone aboard who can  
deal with this?"

"A doctor," Zoe affirms. "We'll be in touch, 'less you're meaning to hire another transport within  
the next few days?"

"No. Let me know when you can," Talbot says, and then, to River, "My thanks for what you did."

River nods, but her mind is elsewhere. Mal is tense with strain and his skin looks clammy, like he's  
on the verge of going into shock. Jayne and Zoe support him, as they leave the gambling hall, and it  
isn't far to the ship, but the distance might as well be endless. River hovers and flutters about, fraught  
with distress, and Zoe eventually says, "You go on ahead. Find Simon, make sure he's prepared."   
River's about to object, but Zoe adds, "I have him. Do you trust that?"

River meets the other woman's eyes, her own concern mirrored there. "Yes," she replies. Mal's head  
is lowered and she regards him as if to imprint each detail in her memory, then breaks into a run, down  
the street and towards _Serenity_.


	23. All Upside Down

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: The aftermath of the gambling hall incident.  
**Author's note**: Getting near the end of this... There are only a couple more chapters to go,  
I think, and an epilogue. Reviews are, as usual, highly appreciated.

**  
All Upside Down **  
**by Hereswith**

She's a flood not a river, her thoughts tumbling down the rapids, smashing against the rocks  
and boulders, and Simon takes hold of her and says, "_Mei mei_. It might not be as serious as  
you imagine."

He waits a moment and she struggles, gaining a measure of calm. Simon gives her shoulders  
an encouraging squeeze, then heads for the infirmary and Kaylee, who has been standing beside  
them, steps over to River, touching her arm.

"We argued," River says, a catch in her throat. "Not in the gambling hall, but before." She curls  
the hand that clasped Mal's, but the warmth of him doesn't linger, it's gone and she might never  
feel it again. "I was so angry at him."

"I know," Kaylee replies. "It's Mal. He's gonna be okay."

But when the others arrive, Jayne is practically carrying the captain and the makeshift dressing  
is soaked through with blood. Kaylee gasps and River plummets into despair. As quickly as  
possible, Jayne and Zoe bring Mal to the infirmary, removing his coat and shirt before putting  
him on the examination table, and Simon takes charge with a doctor's authority.

"I want to help," River insists, refusing to be ushered out. "I need to."

Simon studies her, then nods, allowing her to assist. He and Zoe perform the surgery, and he  
operates in concentrated silence, except for the instructions uttered, while River carefully monitors  
Mal's vital signs. It takes a long while before Simon is finished, and each change in the values,  
every fluctuation, has River clamping her jaws together in dread that something has gone wrong.  
But in the end Simon lifts his head, his gloves, like Zoe's, stained red, and says, "Barring  
complications, he should recover completely."

River's knees almost buckle. Relief sweeps through her, sings in her, and when Mal is bandaged,  
a sheet tucked around him, when Simon has washed off and discarded the protective clothing,  
she flies to hug her brother tight. He doesn't question that she stays, afterwards, none of them  
does, and once River is alone with Mal, she settles with a sigh on a stool beside him. And slips  
her hand into his.

_xx_

It's evening when Mal stirs, his eyes twitching beneath his eyelids like he's dreaming. Worried,  
River leans over him. "Mal? You're on _Serenity_. Simon has seen to the wound."

He rouses with a rattling groan, his expression pained and disoriented, and she hastens to get  
her brother. He's with Kaylee in the galley, but follows at once, checking on Mal and administering  
more medicine. The captain soon slips back into drowsing, and Simon turns to River. "He will  
probably sleep through it, but if there are any problems, come fetch me."

A grin tugs at her lips, not because of what he said, but for what he didn't mention. "Thank you.  
For not making a fuss."

Simon raises a brow. "If I did, it still wouldn't convince you to spend the night in your room,  
would it?"

"No," River admits.

"However," he continues, with stern emphasis, "you'll have to promise to get some rest tomorrow.  
You look ready to collapse as it is."

"I promise," she says. "If he's better."

His laugh is wry, but unsurprised. "Agreed."

_xx_

As the hours pass and Mal's condition remains stable, the tension seeps out of her, and when she  
snaps awake from her chin slumping forward onto her chest, she's near to falling off the stool, but   
manages to keep her balance. Her neck protests and she rotates it, wincing.

"River."

At the sound of the captain's voice, hoarse and weaker than usual, she leaps to her feet, moving to  
the head of the table. Though pale, he's less dazed and he obviously recognises her. "Does it hurt?"  
she asks.

"Not much," he says, frowning. "You ain't sleepin' like that?"

"Trying not to," River replies, then sobers, regarding him. "You scared us."

"Played out a mite different than expected, that's for sure." He pulls a grimace. "It weren't only  
Talbot you saved. I'd be belly up, if you hadn't called out."

She shivers; chasing the image of it from her mind before it can cling. "I'm glad you're not."

"So am I, little albatross. So am I." He blinks, his lashes drooping. "'Fraid I ain't very good  
company."

"Doesn't matter," she says, and the lights are low and she's sick of restraint, she reaches out,  
smoothing back his dishevelled hair. And maybe it's the drugs, or the fact that he's ill, but he   
doesn't reproach her, merely closes his eyes, and she strokes her fingers over his temple and  
cheek, her heart aching. He might not hear it, for his breathing slows and deepens, but she tells  
him anyway. "I'm here. I'm watching over you."

_xx_

River comes to with a start, tangled in a blanket. She remembers lying down on the infirmary bed,  
after Simon showed up in the early morning, intending to stretch out, nothing more, but she must  
have slumbered, and Mal—she sits bolt upright, but Simon is nearby and the captain is alert,  
propped up on a pillow and speaking in hushed tones to Zoe.

"I'll let Talbot know," Zoe says, then takes off.

River hops to the floor, drawing the attention of both men, but her eyes are on Mal as she  
approaches the table. He seems much improved and she's uncertain how to behave towards   
him, not daring to assume that last night had been other than an aberration. "How are you?"

"Mending," he replies, and it's in between gentle and guarded, like he's hesitant, too. "Ain't  
that true, Doc?"

"Yes," Simon confirms. "I had hoped you wouldn't be up yet," he adds, directing it at River.  
"But now that you are, would you at least go have breakfast?"

Since Mal is out of the worst danger and she _is_ hungry, River complies. After she has eaten, she  
takes a detour to clean up, splashes cold water in her face, towels it briskly and drags a brush  
through her hair, before returning to the infirmary. At the sight of her, Simon and Mal exchange  
a look and her brother says, "I'll leave you to sort it out, then."

He quirks a smile at River as he walks past and River stares after him, confused. "What's  
going on?"

"Well," says Mal, "the two of us had a bit of a talk."

She glances over at him, and there's something she could have sensed, might have been able to  
grasp, but she shies from it, suddenly skittish. "You didn't quarrel?"

"No," he replies. "Unless you're counting his threat about lettin' me stitch my own self up the next  
time, if I didn't start treating you right."

"He—" She swallows, not reading him, not reading him, but her pulse is a rapid staccato and she  
can't _not_ ask. "Did you answer?"

His gaze, meeting hers, is direct and sincere. "I gave him my word I would."

And it stuns her. More than that. It spins the 'verse all upside down.


	24. Leap of Faith

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River demands an explanation.  
**Author's note**: This is the next to last chapter, so, the end is clearly in sight. As always,  
I really appreciate hearing what you think.

**  
Leap of Faith **  
**by Hereswith**

She stands, lightning-struck, and she can't find the words to answer him, letters and syllables spill  
from her grip like grains of sand, her mouth is dry of them and her mind a blank.

"River?" he questions, his voice on edge, and that, more than her name, is what prompts her into  
speaking.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" she says, with measured care. "Exhaustion can trigger hallucinations, but  
it isn't real."

Guilt spreads unchecked across his face. "You ain't dreaming. Though it's no wonder you think you  
are." He pauses and studies her. "Are you reading me?"

River shakes her head in vehement negation, but it's trickling through, and she's so tense she's   
a hairsbreadth from splintering. Hope is a precarious, treacherous thing and if there's a recoil, it's  
going to be _bad_.

His smile is lopsided. "You should."

She wavers with apprehension, then inhales, braving the plunge and—he's open to her, the walls are  
torn and the shields are riven, and it wrenches a startled noise from her, bordering on a sob.

He moves, at that, attempting to sit, but sinks back against the examination table with a curse, his  
chest heaving, like the exertion strained him. "Too gorram feeble to get up," he mutters. "You'll  
have to come here."

River takes a single step towards him, vertiginous, and she isn't even sure if the emotion that causes  
it, that fills her like a dam bursting, is happiness or fury at him for waiting until now, or some strange,   
roiling combination. "Was it Simon?" she asks. "What he said?"

"He pushed me over quicker than I might've gone, if he hadn't," Mal concedes. "But I was halfway  
there already."

A second step, her foot stretched out to test her path. "Why, then?"

His brow furrows. "You ain't gonna make this easy for me, are you?"

"No," she replies, brooking no compromise. "You'll have to tell me. Have to spell it out, for all the  
times you didn't."

"Conjure there's a fairness to that," he says, then quiets, as if he's pondering how to explain it,  
before he continues. "It's made you miserable. I ain't so doltish I haven't noticed, and I've felt _  
gè zhēn de hún dàn_, but I reasoned if I weathered the brunt of the storm, you'd soon get over it."   
A rueful chuckle escapes him. "Trouble was it dawned on me that's the last thing I wanted. And  
this—" He indicates his bandaged side. "Can't say as my life flashed 'fore my eyes, when the bullet  
clipped me, but parts of it did. Had me thinking it'd be too late. You were right," he adds, gazing  
at her. "I'd regret it. More than anything."

Another step and his admission is the sweetest balm on her wounds, but she's craving the rest of  
it, the whole of it, and she isn't about to grant him respite. "What _do_ you want?"

"You," he answers, owning to it at last, and it's so simple and so much, it's nights in the galley and  
moments on the bridge, conversation and silence shared, what has been between them, and the  
nebulous might be of bodies entwined in the dark. "Don't often let a person close, but you stole in  
when I wasn't looking, and when I did, it seemed you'd always belonged. I've been ten kinds of  
a coward, running from the truth of that. I hurt you, and I'm sorry. And I mean to make no end  
of amends."

The next step brings her up to the table, her heart pounding, her hands locked behind her back.  
"And if it isn't enough? That you're sorry?"

Mal flinches, like he believes it might be so, and it's an effort not to reach for him. "I'd understand it.  
But I'm through fighting, darlin', and if you'll still have me—for as long as you'll have me, I'm yours."

She forgets to breathe. "Mine?"

And he says it. He does. "Yes."

Joy, undiluted, is an intoxicating rush. "If you take it back again," she states, and it's her final caution,  
"I won't forgive you. Ever."

"Wouldn't deserve it. But I ain't going to," he responds, then suddenly stills, his eyes widening, and  
she can see the shift in them as he realises just what her statement implies. "River—"

She stoops to kiss him, twisting her hair aside, and it's awkward with him lying on the table, but they   
manage, and he gives himself up to her, without missing a beat. She had intended it to be light, since  
he's ailing and medicated, the merest affirmation, but the hunger is there, for both of them, making it  
otherwise, and it's more than she remembers, it's shiny and golden and—_wŏ de tiān a_—she's   
needed him. Needed this.

After a while, she withdraws, her lips hovering above his, and she's panting, quivering, and he is, as  
well, their mouths slightly open and almost brushing together but not quite meeting, in a maddening  
game of advance and retreat, until she captures and tugs on his lower lip with her teeth, because she  
can, because it's too tempting not to. She traces her tongue along the curve of it, but with a growling  
moan, Mal puts a stop to the torment, his hand slipping behind her neck to pull her into another kiss  
and she goes willing and eager.

When next they disentangle, River straightens, and she could have danced, skipped and pirouetted,  
her grin is as bright as a thousand suns, and she says, teasing him, "Wasn't _so_ difficult, was it?"

"'Cept for the third degree?" is his amused retort. "You drive a hard bargain, _băo bèi_. But yes, the  
worryin' was worse than the doing."

"I said I would catch you, if you fell," she reminds him.

Mal nods. "You did. And you have."

Though he's lucid, it's obvious he's tired, it flickers in the backdrop, and had the examination table  
been less narrow, she would have climbed up beside him, but that's impossible, so she fumbles for  
the stool and takes a seat. "You should be resting."

"Probably," he says. "So should you."

"I'm riding high on a thermal," River replies. "Can't land."

He's in front of her, _with_ her, not holding back, and she marvels at it, venturing to caress his bare  
upper arm, his shoulder and then the scar on his chest, thrilling to the sensation and the fact that he  
allows it. When she slides her fingers further down, dipping them underneath the sheet, he covers  
her hand with his own, however, removing but not releasing it.

"That won't have either of us able to rest," he says, his gaze glittering.

"No," she acknowledges, blushing. "Only—"

His expression turns curious. "What?"

She casts him a mischievous glance. "You're very—_touchable_."

"Touchable? Don't reckon that's a compliment I've heard afore," he replies, a hint of merriment in  
his tone. "I'm flattered, little one. And once I'm fit, you're welcome to touch as much as you like."

Tingles of anticipation dart along her spine. "Wore my patience thin with your running," she chides.   
"You'd better hurry and get well."

His lips tilt upward, laugh lines deepening, and it changes him, illumines him, as though a burden has   
been lifted and a shadow dispelled. "I will," he says, and it's vibrant with promise. "Fast as I can."


	25. Side by Side

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Things come to a conclusion.  
**Author's note**: This is the final chapter of the story. There will, however, be an epilogue.

**  
Side by Side **  
**by Hereswith**

There's a discreet cough from the doorway, and at the sound of it, River, her hand still in Mal's,  
turns to her brother and cheerfully informs him, "You're going to have to get used to it."

"It?" Mal asks.

"Us," she clarifies, and she's grinning again, she can't help it.

Simon steps towards them. "When it has you beaming, _mei mei_," he says, with amused affection,  
"I suppose I'll have to try." He gazes intently at Mal, as if appraising him. "I hope you understand  
how fortunate you are."

"Trust me, Doc," Mal replies, "I'm all manner of thankful."

"Good," Simon continues, in a firm tone. "But I won't have you rushing her into something she  
isn't ready for. _Dong ma_?"

"Simon!" Kaylee exclaims, peeking in, before River can form a sharp enough retort. "The capt'n  
would never do that."

She enters the infirmary, Zoe and Jayne trailing behind, and Mal frowns. "You ain't been  
eavesdropping?"

"No, sir," Zoe smiles. "We were up in the galley. Sent Simon ahead to scout, but couldn't abide  
the guessing, so we followed."

Zoe looks at River, and nods, and it makes River warm inside, that gesture, and the fact that they  
are accepting it. Simon, in spite of his grumbling, and Zoe. Kaylee, who comes up to River and  
hugs her, then Mal, saying she's glad for them. Even Jayne, lounging against the wall, arms folded,  
with his, "If it means we're finally gettin' some peace round here, I'm for it."

And the captain, _her_ captain, gives her a sidewise, conspiratorial glance, in the midst of it, his  
fingers lacing hers.

_xx_

In an expression of gratitude, Talbot agrees to the price they first set, without further haggling, and  
several days later, while the cargo is being loaded, River sneaks off to wave Inara. It isn't spur of  
the moment, she's mulled it over and arrived at the decision that she should. That she ought to.

She's spoken with the Companion on a few occasions since Inara departed, though that has been  
in Kaylee's company, but if Inara wonders why River is alone, it doesn't show, and once the  
greetings are exchanged, River breaks the news. Says it out loud. _Mal and I_. And _together_.

Inara falls silent, and River attempts to interpret her reaction, past the distance and the flat of the   
screen, and it doesn't appear to her that the older woman is shocked.

"Though it's unexpected, I'm not entirely surprised," Inara says, confirming it. "I've seen how you  
are with him, River, and how he is with you."

River wets her lips. "Are you—"

Inara gives a small shake of the head, forestalling the question. "I care for you both. Don't think   
that I would begrudge you, or him, happiness." She regards River, her smile almost wistful, but  
mostly gentle. "Because it is that, isn't it?"

"Yes," River says, and her voice is tremulous with it. "_Yes_."

"Well, then," Inara replies, but suddenly grows serious. "_Réncí de Fózŭ_," she adds. "What did  
Simon say?"

River makes a grimace, and tells her. The abbreviated version.

_xx_

Afterwards, when she's passing through the common area, River spots Mal on the couch. He's leaning   
back, looking pinched, like he's had to pause to gather strength, and she walks over to sit by him.

"Shouldn't tire yourself out," she says. "You don't have to be up."

"Can't stay idle no longer, or it'll send me clear round the bend," he answers. "What have you been  
doing?"

She scoots closer, and he puts his arm around her. "I talked to Inara."

He stiffens, briefly, but not in anger. "How'd it go?" She relates the conversation, adjusting her position  
so that she faces him, and he listens, then says, "Reckon it's right she learned it from one of us." He  
searches her features, eyes narrowed. "Wouldn't be anything happening 'tween her and me, even if  
she were aboard. That's done. You ain't doubting that, are you?"

"No," she assures, and she doesn't, but Inara is Inara, beautiful and poised, and they have _history_,  
so she doesn't mind to hear him state it. She swings her legs up and across his lap, careful not to bump  
against his wound, and it startles him, but he recovers and steadies her as she snuggles into him, placing  
his palm somewhat gingerly on her shin. And she shivers, because the hem of her skirt is mid-thigh and  
no fabric dulls the sensation of his touch. "Mal," she says, and fiddles with the top button of his shirt,  
undoing it.

"Ain't sure we should—"

"Simon's out shopping with Kaylee," she interrupts, working the second button loose and sliding her  
hand in to rest below his collarbone, her thumb at the hollow where his pulse flutters. "And the others  
are busy in the cargo bay. Are you uncomfortable?"

"Hardly that," he replies. "It's plenty agreeable."

"Besides," she says, with contented conviction. "It counts as making amends."

"_Shí ma_?" He hesitates, then runs his fingers, slow and deliberate, over the sensitive skin on the back  
of her knee. "What about this?"

It tickles and yet not, and, "Don't stop," she mumbles, "Don't ever stop."

"Like it that much, do you?" he chuckles, _not_ stopping, and brushes a kiss on her forehead. "I'll make  
a point of remembering it, darlin'."

_xx_

It isn't planetary evening, since _Serenity_ is hurtling through the boundless black once more, but it's  
well into the hours designated for repose. Mal is back in his quarters, and though he hasn't offered  
her an invitation, River is pacing around her room, the prospect of remaining there less than appealing,  
no matter the angle of approach. In the end, she gives the cause up for lost, puts her night clothes on,  
and goes to him.

She doesn't knock, merely slips inside, ghosting down the ladder. The lights are on and he's seated  
in a chair, she's aware of his gaze on her as she descends, but he doesn't address her until she's   
reached the bottom.

"If your brother finds out, he won't be pleased."

"I can return to my room before he wakes," she says. He's wearing the trousers he had at Borden's  
ranch, as well as the T-shirt with a tear in it, and her stomach does a curious flip. "Don't make me leave."

He breathes in, deeply, and exhales. "I won't. But," he warns, "the bed ain't that wide and I'm like  
to be knocked out as soon as my head's on the pillow."

"I'll be with you," she replies. "It's the important thing."

Mal stares at her in something like amazement, then snaps out of it, rubbing a hand through his hair.  
"Right," he says, rising. "Which side do you sleep on?"

The corner of her mouth twitches, because he asks, because it's a discussion that would have been  
improbable, a short while ago. "Tend to take up the whole bed," she admits. "You should be on the  
inner side, or I might push you off."

He snorts, brows arching. "Didn't figure you for a bed hog, little one."

Her cheeks heat. "It's since Miranda," she explains. "Since I got better. Didn't have to be a stone,  
tucking in the parts of me that stick out."

His expression changes and he crosses the gap that separate them, drawing her into his embrace,  
and he says, "Darling girl," in a roughened whisper in her ear, and she holds him like he holds her,  
her throat constricting.

When he releases her, at length, it's to attend to the dimming of the lamps, then he lies down, lifting  
the covers for her, and River gets in and under them. After some manoeuvring, she settles half on top  
of him, with her head on his shoulder, her arm draped across his chest and one foot tangled with his  
leg, and heaves a sigh. "Were you up waiting for me?"

"Ain't no use denying it, is there?" he says. "Been picturing you here, like this, so much lately the  
gorram bed seemed empty without you."

"Me too," she replies, to the picturing, the imagining, tightening her fingers in his T-shirt. And yawns.

"Time to call it a night?" he says, a smile in his voice.

River nods agreement, but she doesn't doze off immediately, reminded, by contrast rather than  
similarity, of the only other instant she's been curled up next to him, during the tenuous and temporary  
truce that was struck in Inara's shuttle. What she had longed for, then, is reality, now, her wishes   
fulfilled. She cranes her neck, contemplating him in the near dark. He's fast asleep, like he predicted,  
and a fierce, protective tenderness overwhelms her. She has her friend back, and more.

_Mal_, she thinks. _Malcolm_. _Captain Malcolm Reynolds_.

She will stand beside him, fight beside him. Battle his demons and keep the wolves from his door.  
And she knows he'll do the same for her.


	26. Epilogue

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement  
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: A final resolution.  
**Author's note**: Since this is the very end, thank you to all who have been reading, it's been  
a long journey, but I really hope you've enjoyed it.

**  
Epilogue **  
**by Hereswith**

River is about to quit the galley, when the captain comes in. He has his hand hidden from her view  
and she refrains from peeking, either around or inside, and says, "Is it for me?"

"Yes." With a sheepish expression, he holds out a small bunch of flowers, which he must have  
picked in the woods south of where _Serenity_ is set aground, star-shaped blue, with pale green,  
trifoliate leaves. "Happened to spot them," he says, elaborating, "and I figured—"

She kisses him, quick, but full on the mouth. "Thank you. For the flowers. And for the thought."

There's a faint hint of colour high on his cheekbones. "Should find something to put them in, 'fore  
they wilt."

"I'll do it," she says, and takes the flowers, going to the kitchen area while he pulls out a chair and  
sits. She uses a mug without handles as a vase and carries it, flowers arranged and watered, back  
to the table, places the mug on the tabletop and hugs him from behind, burying her face against his  
neck and breathing him in. "Simon said," she whispers, "that you were healed."

"Seems so," he replies, and, with unmistakable humour, "I'm fit enough, if that's what you're asking."

"Wouldn't be rushing," she continues. "I want to."

"I know." He touches her arm. "I'm aiming to do this right, _băo bèi_. Court you proper."

"It'd be right, no matter how you do it," she says, squeezing him to her, then straightens and perches  
on the nearby chair. "And you've considered it, or you wouldn't have seen to protection."

He casts her a keen glance. "Caught on to that, did you?"

"Couldn't miss it," she explains. "It was very loud."

He harrumphs, but his lips twitch upward. "Went to a town doctor. Your brother would've had  
my head."

"Maybe not," she says. "He's making an effort. But it would've been awkward."

"That's putting it mild."

She reaches out and brushes over the centre of a flower, dusting her fingertip yellow. "Doesn't  
mean I don't like the courting. I do." She gazes askance at him. "Was hoping I could have both."

His smile widens. "You're makin' it awful hard for me to argue against it."

"Then don't," she replies. "No reason to."

He regards her, silent a moment, then says, "Well, I suppose we could—"

She brightens. "When?"

He laughs unrestrained, at that. "Not now, anyways. I have to speak to Zoe, and you should be  
getting us fixed for take-off."

"Wasn't implying it had to be now, though I wouldn't have objected," River says, on a teasing note.  
She lifts the mug, intending to bring it with her to the bridge. "Soon?"

He nods, and longing stirs sudden in her, at the look in his eyes. "Soon."

_xx_

One evening, that same week, when Simon and Kaylee have retired, River goes in search of Mal  
and locates him on the bridge, in the pilot's seat, staring into the black with a pensive expression.

"Don't go wandering too far." She walks up to the console and proceeds to turn the dinosaurs  
around, so their heads are pointing toward the stars. "Might get lost."

He swivels the seat. "Got a light in the window to guide me, ain't I?" he replies, in reference to their  
conversation in Inara's shuttle, and indicates the dinosaurs. "What's that for?"

She doesn't answer him directly. Instead, she straddles his lap and, as he grasps around her waist,  
cups his cheeks in her palms, her thumbs smoothing his brows and the fine lines around his eyes,  
and she tells him, "_Nĭ hăo mĕi_."

"Don't usually call a man beautiful," he replies, sounding flustered.

"_Fèi huà_," she states. "You are."

And he might have questioned it, but she prevents that, seeking his lips. He quiets, and sighs, and  
she darts her tongue out to collide with his, tasting coffee and heat and Mal, and they settle into  
a languid, lingering give and take, his hands stroking her sides and hips through the layers of clothing.  
Pausing for air, she rests her forehead against his, not delving, but she skims the crests of his desire  
for her, like a sea bird might its wings on the waves.

The beep from the console is jarring, and River gains focus before he does, changing her position  
on his lap so that she has her back to him, his arm supporting her as she stretches to check. It's  
a prompt from the navigational system, and Mal, restive, pushes her hair aside while she's making  
the necessary corrections, exposing her neck to his fingers, and, when she's finished and leans  
against him, his mouth, and she lets her head drop on his shoulder, mumbling approval.

_xx_

"Didn't expect that," she says, much later, encircled in his arms, when she's capable of formulating  
a sentence with some coherence. "Glad I turned the dinosaurs."

He chuckles, but it's strained, and River, realising his predicament, twists sideways. She never gets  
the chance to act, though, for someone's approaching, entering the passage that leads to the bridge,  
and River scrambles to her feet, blurting out, "Zoe," and Mal's oath is gritted, but he doesn't  
hinder her.

When Zoe arrives, River is standing, somewhat weak-kneed, by the pilot's seat, while Mal is still  
sitting, and Zoe halts inside the doorway.

Mal clears his throat. "There a problem?"

Zoe looks from Mal, to River, to the star-watching dinosaurs. "Not really, sir," she says, her face  
straight, but her eyes are brimming with laughter. "Nothing that can't wait till morning, when you've  
less—pressing matters on your mind."

After Zoe has bid them goodnight and taken her leave, Mal mutters a chagrined, "Gorram it," and  
scowls, and River clamps her lips together to keep from grinning, but fails.

He glares at her, but she's unfazed and unrepentant, and in the end he shakes his head, with  
a reluctant smile. "Jayne'll be next," he says, wryly. "It'd be a mite more private-like in my bunk,  
if you're inclined?"

She extends her hand to him. "Yes."

_xx_

"Don't worry," she says, as he sheds his boots and socks, as he slips the suspenders down, because  
he does, she can recognise it by the tautness of his jaw, without resorting to a reader's skills.

He glances at her. "Should be me saying that, shouldn't it? Seeing's I'm the one who's done it before."

She tilts her head. "With someone who hasn't?"

"No," he admits, tugging his shirt out of his trousers.

She steps up him, to do the unbuttoning. "Then it's a first for both of us."

"In a manner of speaking," Mal agrees, but tips her chin to meet his gaze. "What about you?"

"A little," she replies. "But I'm mostly curious."

"That ain't a surprise," he says, his arm sinking to his side. "Anything have you spooked, you tell me.  
_Hăo ma_?"

"I promise."

She unfastens the final button, shoving his shirt off his shoulders, and the sleeves are rolled up, so  
she doesn't have to bother with the cuffs. He shrugs out of it, giving a laugh at her enthusiasm, but  
it fades as she roams her hands over his torso, experimenting. He's silken, apart from the scars: his  
past, the distant and the recent, etched into his flesh, and it's too enticing to resist, she swoops in,  
nips with her teeth, and licks, but then his fingers are in her hair, his mouth urgent on hers, and he  
backs her toward the bed.

He's careful about it, trying to ease things for her, but it's new and strange, and though there's  
minimal pain, she isn't swept to any heights of pleasure. It's rather the intimacy of it that staggers  
her, and the knowledge, _oh_, the awareness of how she affects him, makes her giddy.

Afterwards, she ponders the experience, propped on her elbow beside him. She's a bit sore,  
which she assumes is natural, under the circumstances, and it gives her delicious satisfaction that  
it's done, that she's finally shared this with him, but it isn't like she's been magically transformed,  
becoming something she wasn't.

"I don't feel different," she comments, nudging him out of shallow slumber. "Should I?" She  
studies him. "Did you?"

"First time?" he replies, taking the question in stride, and lazily scratches his chin. "Not as such.  
But I was pretty smug 'bout it, truth to tell."

"I'm smug," she confides. "I've had you."

He grins, but it's fleeting. "Wasn't what it can be. What it _will_ be, when you're accustomed to it,"  
he says, his tone apologetic. "You ain't disappointed?"

"No," she says, with firm emphasis. "Didn't hurt that much, and the rest made up for it. Honest."  
It chases the concern from his features, and she sneaks her hand over his ribs, adding, "Can I be  
on top, next time?"

His eyes glint with amusement. "Ticking off a list, are you?"

She blushes. Not all of her fantasies about him have been innocent, and his guess isn't completely  
wrong. "It isn't _exactly_ a list. I'm merely—"

"Curious." He trails the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "We can do whatever you've fancy  
for, but I ain't able to keep at it tireless. You might have to wait for me to catch up."

She shifts, until she's snug and comfortable, and as close to him as she can be. "Worth waiting for."

It encompasses more than the obvious, the physical, and it doesn't escape him, his arm goes  
around her, and the words he utters are gruff and infinitely fond.

Her lips curve, against his chest. "Not_ so_ little," she replies. "But I'll always be your albatross."


End file.
